Road trip
by The cursed child
Summary: Bass is leaving, and Miles asks Charlie to keep an eye on his best friend. Of course, none of them counted on the Monroe Militia alive and kicking, asking the two travelers for help.
1. Chapter 1

It's over. The Patriots have been slaughtered, the East coast of the former US of A is one chaotic mess, and everyone important to Charlie has made it out alive.

The exception of course, is Jason, who died in her arms and at her hands, with his life and love at her fingertips. The boy is too far out of her reach now, and neither of his parents made it through the most recent war.

Also, there is the unknown factor; Connor. They haven't seen him since he tried to murder his father, and while Charlie is content to hate him like she once hated his father, the original Monroe is not. Which is how she inevitably ended up in a screaming match with aforementioned idiot, who is determined to run straight towards his homicidal and power hungry son. To be honest, both are traits Connor inherited, the idiocy as well.

"What am I gonna do, Charlie? I don't get my Republic, Miles will kill me. I don't get my son, he will kill me. I don't get Miles, the bitch you call your mother has him trapped in her box of crazy."

Charlie really should defend her mother now, but she can't bring herself to. She just exited a particularly heated argument with the woman herself, concerning her quick rise amongst the ranks of the Texas Rangers and her increasing murder count. Instead, she goes for the low blow.

"Your box of crazy…," she is ready to finish her sentence and see if he will slump his shoulders, or attack her in the middle of the camp, where they will have to dodge the gathering onlookers while he kicks her ass.

There is no shame in admitting that she cannot beat Sebastian Monroe at hand-to-hand combat. Miles can't. Though there is that memorable time five weeks ago where she broke the former president's rib with a nice left hook.

Anyway, she won't find out, because Miles comes running to save the day, or rather, save them from each other. His hand is on Bass' arm before the temperamental man finishes her sentence in his head and gets the chance to attack.

Both Mathesons know that calming the general down with a gentle touch only works when you use the manoeuvre sparingly, which is why Charlie had been spending the past few minutes baiting the guy instead. She's been calming him down like it's her full-time job. She knows every trick in the book that Miles could write about his best friend, and a few more that she had to invent now that Monroe sometimes gets that completely insane look in his eyes.

Bass takes one look at her, jams his thumb into the pressure point on Miles' hand, and storms into his tent five feet away. He completely misses Miles wincing and practically bending over from pain. The hand had been broken and his thumb re-broken while escaping another set of chains just three days ago. That, and pressure points hurt like hell all on their own.

Charlie puts on her most commanding voice and sends the gathered crowd back to their stations. You would think they'd gotten used to her and Bass arguing at the top of their lungs. Miles said something about soaps that she didn't get. She's pretty sure he mentioned mindless entertainment.

By the time the soldiers have scattered, Miles has recovered, intermittingly shaking his hand as if twitching will help the pain subside. He has Rachel, who apparently came with him to separate them, keep Bass from running by stationing her in front of his tent. Next, he drags his niece to the tent next to it; his own.

"You know he's going, right?" Miles starts. She nods. Suppressing the need to tell him that he is the reason Bass can't stand staying with them at the camp because her uncle is too busy screwing her mom is getting easier the longer they do so. "I need a favor."

That's bad. Miles runs a hand through his hair. That's worse. His fingers drum on the table that serves as a desk, stacked with maps and battle plans. Now she's feeling elated and apprehensive. It's story time.

"I tried to kill Bass the night I deserted, sort of." She knows that. Everyone knows that. The 'sort of' part is new, though not entirely unsuspected. Her uncle opens his mouth to continue, then closes it.

"I'm going about this all wrong." There's a reason Miles never says much. Besides giving orders, he's not all that good with words. Not all that eloquent with emotions either. That's Bass.

"Just after the blackout, Bass and I stumbled on two guys beating up Jeremy Baker. I shot them both." He gives her a quick out-line of the creation of the Republic, but Monroe has already told her all of this. He always gets that look in his eye too, like he wants to go back to a time where everything was done together. Still, she lets him speak. Miles' voice is soothing, and hearing the story from his perspective is almost frighteningly different. In Bass' version, Miles is a hero and not all that far removed from a saint, the man himself makes it sound like the young Miles was a destructive force that cut humanity down like weeds.

"Bass always tried to stop me, hold me back. One day, he didn't, and I was so far gone that my newest nickname became The Butcher of Baltimore. I slaughtered one hundred and forty-two soldiers that day, Charlie."

The number is staggering, but she doesn't flinch. Charlie will never be scared of Miles. Bass told her how much good they did, and though the bad out-weighs it by far, they saved lives, thousands of them had been happy and healthy in Philly, under the leadership of the Monroe Republic. Nowadays, she knows that peace has a higher price that war does. She still can't pin-point why she is fighting. But she is no hypocrit, her own kill count exceeds hundred easily.

"One day, Bass killed a whole family of rebels, children included. We watched the coffins out, and he had a smile on his face. I turned him into that, not the other way around."

His voice breaks a little, and her eyes water. She knows the smile Miles talks about. It fleets across Monroe's face when the executions start, when the bodies on the battlefield are lit and turn into an inferno of burning flesh.

"I knew that I had to put as much distance between us as possible. So I went to his room to say goodbye. I had one rule; don't let him come with me. I stood there for what seemed like hours, watching him sleep. I was so far gone that I considered shooting my best friend in the head and completely take over Philly." Self-loathing bleeds through in his tone.

"But you didn't." It feels like she's reminding them both of this fact daily. Especially now that the war has worsened Bass' paranoia even further. Most of the time, she feels like she's clinging to his leg like a child, just to get him to stop because she has no idea how to keep Monroe from doing something completely stupid.

"But I didn't," he repeated, "Because we are brothers. So I ran all the way to Chicago, where you found me."

"Drinking yourself to death," Charlie supplied. He ignores her, like he always does when it concerns his drinking habits. "You have no idea how much you changed me, kid. How much you changed your mom, and how much you're helping Bass. So I need you to go with him."

Charlie practically slumps with relieve. She's been planning her getaway for a few weeks already. Now that she feels like Miles and Rachel can actually be left alone for a while, she is desperate to get out of here. Having the consent of her uncle makes it a lot easier.

"Alright," she says.

"Alright?" Miles asks, as if he's been expecting resistance. That's probably why he bothered telling the story. His eyes narrow. "You were gonna go anyway."

"Hadn't counted on having Monroe along, but he'll do." She says it like she can tolerate the man if necessary. Truthfully, she's kind of glad she won't be traveling thousands of miles on her own. "But I won't try to fix him Miles. That's not my job."

It's Miles who laughs at that. Sometimes, Charlie is still the naïve little girl that asked him to save Danny.

"You don't have to try, kid. Being around you for any span of time is more than enough." Charlie made him want to be a better person, and Bass is the target of her disappointment these days. Frankly, you don't start a sentence with : 'Bass isn't', 'cause he will prove you wrong just for the hell of it.

"Really, 'cause I've been travelling and fighting with Monroe for months by now, and he's still insane half of the time."

Miles' good mood vanishes. "That's because I've been around most of the same time." The downside turning Miles into a good guy is definitely the self-deprivation. Sadly, he's probably right. "He was different by the time the two of you found me. He hadn't killed you; he'd saved your life instead."

"Because I'm your niece," she helpfully reminds him. Bass does everything for Miles, no one else. She isn't foolish enough to believe she's anywhere in Monroe's top ten of friends. If she is, it's because he only has ten friends, and gets the spot as default.

Rachel interrupts the conversation by entering Miles' tent. "He's packing."

Charlie hops up from the cot she had started using as a chair halfway through her little talk with her uncle, and exits the tent, entering her own opposite to the former republic leaders. The young woman reaches for the two backpacks that are fully stocked for travelling and gets back outside just in time to run into her new companion.

He only has a small satchel with him, so she throws her second pack at the man, who catches it effortlessly. "Come on, Monroe. Road trip." She throws him a smile for good measure, but she's still frustrated with him, so it is a tiny bit more evil than she'd wanted it to be.

Bass looks at her, than to her mom and uncle ten feet away. He zeroes in on his best friend. "I don't need a babysitter."

"Yeah, well. She does." Her traitor uncle replies with a nod in her direction. It's a lie, which they all know.

"Let's go, Bass, we have a long way to go." Not that she has a destination in mind. She hugs Miles, one of the rarities she takes full advantage of now that she's allowed to, and grudgingly repeats the gesture with her mom.

She grabs Monroe by the wrists, pushes him in front of her, and starts marching.


	2. Chapter 2

They walk an impressive fifty miles on the first day. The sun set hours ago, but the moon is full enough that they can navigate through the woods without stumbling.

Bass hasn't said a word during the entire trip, and Charlie has been content to relish in the silence. The daily bustle of the camp had been driving her crazy. Soldiers walk so loudly that she can hear them coming from a hundred feet away, even with the half-drunk conversations and strategic conventions in the tiny radius around her tent.

Her companion is quiet in every way. His boots practically float above the ground, never moving earth or overturning stones. His breath is consciously measured, which she can only tell by the fall and rise of his chest under the thin blue T-Shirt. She walks half a step behind him to make sure he doesn't sneak off.

It's disturbingly comforting to walk next to a killer. They will hear danger coming well before it gets close. Right now though, they're hunting. Charlie is completely in her element. Her crossbow is resting on her forearm, ready to shoot if either of them spotted prey.

Bass points to his left, his arm blocking her path forward. She follows his finger and finds a group of three birds picking at the forest floor. The young hunter chooses the fattest animal and releases her arrow. It hits, of course it does, but instead of the eye, she hits its neck.

Blood spurts over the ground. Disappointed with her shot, she approaches her kill and draws her knife to skin it. She's rusty. She's killed more humans in the past few months than animals. Her skills with her hands and swords and guns have improved, but her hunting has taken a turn for the worse.

"Nice," Monroe speaks up for the first time that day. He looks at the bird with appreciation. They haven't eaten poultry in weeks, cattle are far easier to keep and slaughter. "I'll start the fire, you can skin the thing."

Part of her is annoyed at the order, the other laughs because someone is apparently squeamish. "Do you even know how to ready a piece of meat, Mr. President?"

She wonders if he's calmed down enough to take the comment like it's meant, a gentle tease to keep him talking. To her surprise, he grins.

"The only long distance weapon I ever mastered was my gun, and you don't waste bullets hunting when they are as rare as they were after the black-out. Honestly, Jeremy did most of the hunting at first. I'm handy with fire, so we didn't bother teaching each other."

It's one of his better memories. Bass' eyes light up when he talks about the good old times. Even after losing his whole family at once, he still had Miles. Now he's lost his best friend to her mom, and he's no longer on anyone's most-important-person-in-the-world list.

Charlie can relate. All her life, it's been Danny first. Her mom made no secret of her favoritism toward her youngest, while her dad more or less focused all his attention on his sick child. Honestly, Danny had been her number one as well.

When she found Miles, she was suddenly his most loved family member, and for the first time in her life, someone found her more important than Danny. Then Rachel re-entered the picture, and separated Charlie and Miles like she'd done to Bass and Miles and Ben and Miles.

Back to second best had been hard for her to handle, which is why she left Willoughby as quickly as she possibly could, and the same reason she is heading east with Bass on a trip to nowhere. She needs to find someone who puts her first. There has to be someone, right?

A hand flits in front of her face. "Charlie. Charlotte?" Her full name snaps her out of her train of thought. The fire is already strong, smoking surprisingly little. It will still give away their location, but neither of them is worried.

The bird is ready, her hands automatically having skinned and gutted it. She hands it to Bass, who skewers the thing and starts the roasting progress, his swords within arm's reach.

He opens his backpack for the first time, the one she handed to him. He'd trusted her to grab everything they would need, which sends a thrill of pride through her spine. It's ridiculous.

"No whiskey?" he asks, disappointed. He stares at her with puppy eyes, adding a ridiculous pout. If she didn't know better, she'd say he's already drunk. She glares back at him, adding a scolding look, like he should know better. "Too heavy, Bass, I'd rather have extra food."

She waits until he deflates, staring into the fire, and reaches for the bottom of her own bag, pulling out a standard flask with his favorite drink. "I figured Miles owes us."

A laugh escapes his lips. "You're amazing, Charlotte." He reaches for the bottle, which she pulls from his reach. "Nuuh," she chastises, "ladies first."

"Chivalry's dead," he replies as he steals the glass from her grip and throws his head back, taking a deep swallow. Says the man who holds tent flaps open for her and stands up when she enters the room. Chivalry's definitely alive and kicking.

As a punishment, she pokes him in the same rib she broke, and grins as his grip slackens and she steals the whiskey back. They drink in silence, watching the bird roast and eating when it's done.

One empty bottle later, they're ready for an overdue talk.

"You still want to find Connor?" Charlie asks once her vision starts blurring.

Bass is silent for so long that she checks to see if he passed out. They killed the fire once the meat was done, so there's nothing left to stare at but ashes.

"I don't think so." He looks upset, which is the exact moment she should not touch him. That's when he gets paranoid. "I can't help him. He's better off alone until I can get back on my feet."

Charlie doesn't bother arguing with the truth, though she's pretty sure Connor's childhood damaged him more than Bass ever had the chance to.

"How are you planning on doing that?" She's genuinely curious. Monroe has two skills, fighting and politics, neither of which are conductive to getting back on his feet.

"No idea," he looks adorably clueless, "I just want to work my way through my bucket list."

She's game. "What's the first thing on it?" Might as well start right away.

"The sea," he answers, "Going for a swim in the salty water. I'm betting the pollution has reduced significantly."

"It must have been hard. A marine away from the water for so long."

Bass grins. "I was no SEAL, but my grandparents lived by the seaside, so Miles and I would always spend the day swimming."

"You'll have to teach me," Charlie mentions cautiously. She stands up, swaying, and crawls into her sleeping bag. She doesn't dare to face him while she awaits his judgement.

"I'm looking forward to it." She falls asleep with a smile on her face, Bass watching over her.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N I'm glad all of you like it! The full inbox was just what I needed to cheer me up this morning. Enjoy Ch3. Frankly, I'm pretty much using this fanfic to bring up my own grievances with the characters (mostly Rachel, though I won't bash her, cause that's not my style). Have fun!**

Charlie wakes when the darkness gives away to a lighter shade of morning. The grass she is lying on is covered in dew, drops clinging to the greens. She twists her neck to catch a sight of Monroe, who didn't run apparently, seeing as he is passed out against the tree trunk, one leg bend at the knee.

Watching people sleep feels extremely creepy, so the young woman sighs and wrestles herself away from her sleeping bag, packing everything they need and retrieving yesterday's leftovers for breakfast. She has some fruit, which would be healthier, but she doesn't want the meat to go to waste.

She waves a drumstick beneath Bass' nose, ready to dodge if he draws his sword. Little does she know that he's been mostly awake since the loud fight with her portable bed. He knows she's watching his hands, so he uses his outstretched leg to sweep Charlie's from underneath her body. In shock, she drops the meat where he catches it, her ass hitting the ground. She yelps.

"And that, Charlotte, is what you get for waving food in my face to wake me up." He says it like she should learn that lesson as quickly as she can, while she still can. He pushes away from the tree, getting up with relative ease. There is a painful crick in his neck that reminds him he's no longer twenty, which he dispels with a few twists of his head. It looks like he's shaking it at his companion, who's glaring at him and massaging her bruises.

"Come on," he orders, holding out his hand to help her up. Of course, Charlie being a Matheson, stubbornly refuses and gets up on her own, wincing as she does so. "We should be close to the Atlantic, a day or two should get us there." Their base had been a short distance from it according to the hand-drawn maps, and he has no idea how much they've covered by now.

They continue their track to the ocean with the same silence of the day before. Charlie spends the first few minutes between nursing her wounds and shooting deadly looks at Monroe, who ignores them with relative ease. After all, these days she doesn't actively try to kill him.

"When did my mom and Miles start dating?" she asks out of the blue once they've crossed a shallow stream. He is surprised enough that he misses a step and almost trips over a rock. Charlie would've laughed, but she wants to have this conversation with everyone feeling as nice and generous as they possibly can.

"He wouldn't tell me, but I figured it was the reason he started drinking. It must have been sometime after our first tour, a few weeks or so. Why do you want to know?" It had taken him two hours and some coaxing to get the story from his best friend. He'd expected the usual for a soldier; nightmares, insomnia. But no, Miles had gone and screwed his brother's wife of all people.

"She left dad, Danny and me. She voluntarily walked away from her family and probably jumped straight into his arms," Charlie says. It feels amazing to share this particular thought out loud. She's lucky that she can tell Monroe, who has nobody to spill her secrets to. Bass also despises Rachel, which means he'll join her in some old fashioned mother-bashing. Rachel doesn't really deserve any less.

To her surprise, the man does the exact opposite, though she does note that he finds no pleasure in protecting his former prisoner.

"Miles broke it off long before the Black-out, just before we went on our last tour. He was still sickeningly in love, but he made sure she hated him and stayed with Ben. I'm pretty sure your mom was trying to keep you and your brother safe. Meanwhile, she could serve her self-imposed prison sentence with yours truly." He finishes with sarcasm, because he will never forgive Rachel's holier-than-thou attitude.

He's glad the kid doesn't do the math. He still wonders who her father really is. Charlie's birthday minus nine months puts Miles on leave at home, in the middle of an affair with his sister-in-law. He wonders if any of the Mathesons ever bothered to find out. He knows Miles doesn't have a clue (nor does he want it), but Rachel or Ben must have at least doubted their daughter's parentage a little. If DNA-testing was still available, he would've stolen samples just to satisfy his curiosity.

"I don't regret imprisoning your mother, Charlie. She ended the world, and by our count, killed six billion people. That's more than Miles or I ever did." Even now he protects Miles' actions. "She deserves the death penalty just as much as I do." But not his own. He's never going to succeed in convincing her that her father's and brother's deaths were not his fault, he'd stopped that effort before even beginning to try it. He knows a useless endavor when he sees one.

"Six billion?" Charlie asks, sounding far away. That's because she's stopped ten feet back. Bass turns and sighs. He hadn't meant to demonize Rachel. As much as he hates her, she loves her kid and she loves Miles, so they'll probably keep running into each other until they're old and grey, because he can't stay away from Mathesons no matter how hard he tries.

"We estimated how many people there were left on this side of the ocean, and used the same numbers to calculate the population of the other continents; we were left with less than a billion of the original seven." He can still remember the stink of dead bodies emitting from the cities they passed. People just didn't know how to survive back then, others got killed by those that did.

"Charlotte, a lot of people were responsible for the Black-out, and a lot of people are responsible for what happened after, there's never just one person at fault." It's funny, Charlie thinks, how in moments like these he is completely sane and reasonable.

Suddenly, she hears a noise. Whatever it is, it sounds dangerous and huge.

"Do you hear that?" she whispers to Monroe, aiming her crossbow at the bushes. Bass frowns and listens, realization crossing his face before barking out a laugh. "That, my dear hunter, is what the ocean sounds like." Her eyes widen, Monroe's right though, that's definitely water. Lots and Lots of water.

They both grin in excitement, Bass for the known, Charlie the unknown, and race through the greenery. They're panting by the time the thick forest gives way to widely spaced trees and sand beneath their boots.


	4. Chapter 4

Charlie can't believe that the Atlantic is this huge. The horizon has never seemed so far away. Water is everywhere, and so is the sand.

While she's been busy gaping at the body of water, Bass has stripped down to his underwear and jumped in. The guy's swimming like he's never done anything else. His arms keep breaking the surface with every stroke. The president's head turns every few feet to take in some air.

He looks like Miles does when he kills, at home. He is completely confident and comfortable with the movements that he probably hasn't used in ages. Muscles ripple under his sun tanned skin, and Charlie takes her time to stare.

There are no people on the long stretch of beach, which Monroe must've known when he left his weapons in the sand, leaving him vulnerable. To think that a year ago, she would've shot an arrow into his body without a second thought.

Now though, she's more likely to jump the guy. She can be honest about that with herself at least. Monroe is handsome, available, has saved her life more than once, they're alone and will be for a few weeks at the very least. No reason she shouldn't make a move.

She strips out of her jeans and boots, gently lowering her crossbow to the ground and throwing off her belt. She decides to keep on her shirt, seducing Monroe should be fairly easy if she just joins him butt naked, but she wants more from him. Not a white picket fence and two point five kids, but someone who puts her first, and Bass could be that.

It's amazing how much lighter he seems now that he has been away from war and death and Miles and Rachel for just one day. He hasn't actually had an episode in over a day, which is very different from the daily temper tantrums she's been dealing with all the time.

She wades into the water, which is not exactly freezing, but pretty far beneath body temperature. Her toes are encased by mud like she's stepping in quicksand. It's like Bass knows that the surface has been disturbed, for he looks up from where he was swimming and moves himself until he's back to vertical.

"You gonna drown?" he shouts when she is in to her waist and stops. She knows how to stay afloat, sure, but actual swimming was not a priority where she lived. "I'm pretty sure you'll save me," she grins back, "After all, you promised to teach me, Professor Monroe." He pulls a face at the title.

"Come on, Charlotte, get over here." She pulls the same face at her full name, especially since he just uses it to get to her this time. Cautiously, she approaches her friend. Because he is, her friend that is. She stops when the water laps at her throat. Her hair floats on the liquid surface.

Bass is dripping wet and panting from the strain of exercise. "You do know that this is a horrible cliché, right?" he asks for conformation. She's pretty sure it's the euphoria of the freedom that has had them both grinning since they left. Nevertheless, it doesn't take away the reality of their first kiss.

He looks at her with those soulful baby-blues that take her breath away and wraps one muscled arm around her hips, pulling her to his bare chest, the cauterized tattoo brushing against the small of her back. It's Charlie who reaches up and pulls his head down with her own hands, her shirt crawling up as their lips connect.

They kiss like the world is going to end, passionately without inhibition. Her hands are circled around his neck, and to get her closer, Monroe moves his hand to her ass, where a bruise is forming from her fall that morning and tugs her up. Charlie gets the hint and jumps up, winding her legs around Bass' hips.

They over-balance and topple over, submerging under the water. They struggle to get up, sand slipping away beneath their feet, before they break the surface again and gasp for air, whether from the kiss or the impromptu dive, neither can tell.

"Just so you know," Charlie coughs, expelling the salty liquid from her lungs, "I really can't swim."

He wants to react, but instead has to nudge Charlie to alert her of the people that just came into his line of sight. The girl can't see them as her back is turned to the beach. The group of four men looks armed, and it will take him thirty second to get to his swords, after which he will have to fight them in his boxers. Bass snorts at his life.

She turns around in confusion and immediately spots the danger. They haven't been spotted yet, but she'll need a good minute to get back to dry land. "You think there's a chance they won't see us," she whispers, though the men are too far away to hear them at all.

"With our luck, I doubt it. Two hundred feet and they reach our bags." Their gazes meet, and Charlie is glad that the war with the Patriots has tuned her to Bass' strategies and plans. "Go, I'll distract them."

The good thing is that he doesn't hesitate, diving soundlessly and making his way toward the beach. Charlie takes a deep breath and waves at the men, who spot her like she wants them to. "Hey guys!" she shouts as loudly as she can, "Care to come in for a swim?"

These guys are no Patriots, she's guessing war clan, and she hopes Bass will hurry. One of the guys strips most of his clothes, intent on getting her from the water, when Monroe slits the throat of the first guy. The others turn around to see what is happening when he stabs the second just below the ribs. The last one in full gear has drawn his gun, but is too late. Bass whirls the blades above his head and takes of the guy's head. The half-naked clan member is scrambling for his own sword when Bass throws his straight at the guy's heart.

Charlie is out of the water by then and has her crossbow aimed at the bushes when the guy with the stomach wound gets back up. Bass is already checking his other victims for anything interesting and can't see him.

She takes aim and shoots the guy between the eyes, the body dropping like a log. Bass startles and yanks his sword out of the fourth corpse, brandishing it in her direction.

The young woman berates herself. Bass reacts badly to projectiles in his direction. It was apparently too much to ask for a longer period between his episodes. She quickly checks for other enemies before slowly lowering her bow. She'll have it up in no time if Monroe attacks, but for now, she appears non-threatening.

"Bass!" she shouts, "It's me." It has no effect. She must look like a stranger from this distance. PTSD, her uncle calls it. Her mom insists that it's been festering since all the Monroes died in a car crash. It started worsening with Shelley's death and his loss of the baby, again with Miles' desertion and assassination attempt, and Emma's death following that. Adding the paranoia when his Militia turned on him and spending months on the run, she is surprised he still has sane moments.

Thankfully, the sane moments are increasing with every day she knows him, as the past two days can attest to. Right now, he could hurt her really badly. Yet she's still sure he stops before he'll get fatal, though she knows there's no such thing as control with deceases like this.

"Get it together," she whispers, a wish more than anything. All she can do is wait him out. It takes a while; his breath and heartbeat have to steady, he has to get his bearings and check for danger, before he approaches her.

They don't talk about it, never have. Bass looks slightly ashamed, feeling weak because he can't control himself and this badly-diagnosed mental illness. These last few months have mostly curbed his power hungry insanity, and with it came the realization of the pain he caused with his paranoia. The worst is his memory of killing Captain Baker, one of his few real friends.

"When was the last time you had fish?" he asks, trying to pretend that everything is okay, though they both know right now is not a time for continuing what they just started. Charlie reminds herself that they have all the time in the world.

She'll play along, it's not like he's the only one that's damaged. The past two years have harmed her psyche more than she likes to admit. She nostalgically thinks back to the girl that begged Miles to save her brother by storming the heavily guarded Philly. "You know how to catch some?" she banters back. Doubting his skill always pushes him to prove her wrong. They'll have an amazing dinner, and she might have brought more than the one bottle of whiskey they emptied yesterday.

**A/N Still enjoying the reactions to this immensely, keep them coming!**


	5. Chapter 5

It's all going wrong, and it's going wrong fast. Bass quickly fashioned some kind of fishing device and dove back in, insisting she'd stay on dry land in case the other members of the war clan came back. The bodies are in the bushes where she dragged them while Monroe caught their dinner. Charlie moved the bags a few hundred feet, following the outline of her companion in the water.

Now, she's worried. Even from what has to be a quarter mile away, she can see his jerky movements, like he's too angry to relax and do what he knows so well. She can imagine the frustration etched in the lines of his face. He hates that he can't control himself.

It used to be worse, on the battle field. He'd tear through men like they were paper, and usually, could keep his cool. Whenever arrows or other projectiles would come his way, he assumed it to be friendly fire and left the realm of sanity. She has had to stop the Texas Rangers from putting him down more than once.

Charlie blames Miles for that. Her uncle is doubtlessly the cause of his best friend's paranoia. If he hadn't tried to assassinate Monroe back then, that would've been one burden less. If things had happened differently, Bass would never consider that his allies might try to kill him.

She starts a fire with the supplies from her pack and occasionally glances at the shadowy figure with increasing worry. She's glad that it will be light for another few hours, because she'd hate to lose track of her former number one target under the cover of darkness. Of course, now he's back as her number one target, only now she isn't trying to kill him, but keep him safe, from his own demons nonetheless.

Though he seemed alright when he calmed down, he isn't able to keep up the act. When he finally gets back to her and settles by the fire to dry off, he is silent and distant. He prepares the fish himself, because apparently scales are less problematic than fur.

He refuses to look at her, and finds a way to sit opposite her but not face her. Charlie is very aware that she should leave him alone. Usually, it is Miles who gets him out of his funk somehow, but she's never succeeded, so she has to do it now. This means a shouting match, which she is not looking forward to. Fighting with Bass always reminds her of what could have been, maybe should have been. She should still be trying to kill him; he should have killed her and the rest of her family several times over.

Monroe feels it too. A tiny second during their fights where he wants to kill her for everything he's allowed to blame her for, and just to hurt Miles, because Charlie and Rachel are his weak spots. For Bass, every symptom of betrayal, every fight, flashes him back to the night Miles left the Republic, and with it is the need to kill and hurt and lash out. To hurt the man who turned on him, and therefore hurt Charlie. Charlie, whom he now travels with, with nobody to keep him in check.

So she stands up, makes sure she is aptly armed to defend herself if he loses control and takes a sandy seat next to the former President. Oh, how the mighty can fall.

"Don't, Charlotte," he says without opening his eyes. He's doing breathing exercises, she observes quietly. He takes one last deep breath and lets it out with a sigh, before getting up.

"I think it's better if you go back to camp," he suggests. He meets her eyes as he does it. He knows that if he doesn't, she'll reject his idea right away. Maybe if she can see he means it, she'll listen.

He forgets she's a Matheson, and those never listen to anything he says. "I can take care of myself, Monroe," she replies. She's leaning back on her hands in the sand, her legs crossed and warming by the fire while she tries to look as relaxed as possible. If he even notices she's ready for an attack, she'll prove him right.

The man snorts. "I beat you in hand-to-hand, close armed combat and long range combat, because let's face it, my gun is better than your bow. You can't keep me from hurting you anymore than I can."

"Let's face it, you can't fight your way out of a paper bag when you're like that," she smirks back. They always refer to his episodes as vaguely as they possibly can. 'Like that' is a perfect example of their skills at evasion.

Despite the Black-out, and the resulting shortage in taboos, mental illness is still mostly a private concern for families, and gets you killed quicker than you can say: 'Weakness'. There are no psychiatrists left to guide people through a healing process, and most still believe it's just a cry for help.

"I'm not kidding, Charlie," Bass grinds out. He's really worried that she could get hurt, and they both now he's not saying she can't handle him because he's a chauvinistic pig, but because he's like a bodybuilder on steroids when he has an episode.

She really doesn't want to fight. For the next few years she just wants to do something other than wars and death. While Charlie knows exactly how to set him off (pushing his buttons was her main entertainment for the weeks on their way to Willoughby), but she wants to try something else this time. He needs reassurance, and it's not like she still needs her trump card.

"Look, Bass," she starts. He is still glaring, trying to push his opinion down her throat, definitely not listening. "Bass!" she repeats. He visibly focuses on listening to her words, so she continues: "If you ever attack me, I'll know exactly how to stop you, okay?"

He raises an eyebrow (she really needs to learn how to do that look), and disbelievingly asks: "You gonna kiss me or something?" His tone switches to a tiny bit hopeful by the end of the sentence.

She grins, thinking back to their kiss, before getting serious again. Her hand moves up in synch with her body and to the side of his face. His eyes suspiciously follow the movement, but halfway to the side one of them stops. "You don't have a full range of sight in one eye."

It explains enough, and Bass realizes just how she could beat him. How she could have beaten him every single time they sparred. If she wanted to at any time, she could have actually killed him. He might just have fallen for her a little bit more.

Charlie's wrong to think his limited eyesight is his weak spot, he thinks suddenly; it's definitely her.


	6. Chapter 6

Charlie insists on moving again once they've finished the little sea banquet, and Bass agrees. However, he draws the line at actually leaving the sea. In his turn, he insists that she should see the sun set and rise by the ocean at least once in her life. The young woman disagrees about the risk; the war clan members left alive are probably looking for them, and tracking in the sand is ridiculously easy, but they don't go near the tree line for cover despite her objections.

She's glad they do, because she's pretty sure she's never seen anything as beautiful to this. The sky is actually more purple and pink than it is blue, and she wonders for a moment if she stepped into a child's drawing. They sit, knees bend and arms circled around them, leaning forward to rest their chins on their wrists. In identical pose, never touching but still quite close, they watch the pretty picture with quiet conversation flowing between the two travellers.

It's light by five, and Bass is out to take one last swim before they move on. Where to is still unclear, but neither of them is in a hurry. Charlie shares some fruit with Bass, apples mostly, but some oranges she managed to get her hands on, when she hears the whinnying of a horse in the distance. The sound is followed up by shouted orders, and she wonders how loud their newest adversaries are going to broadcast their presence. Bass and Charlie have to have moved at least a mile away from the bodies they left behind, but she can almost make out the words the horsemen, three by the sound of it, are saying.

They already got rid of the evidence of the fire they made yesterday, so all they have to do is move into the greenery where their bags are hidden, Bass still mostly wet, but now dressed. Crouched in the tiny space, weapons ready, they wait for what are probably just Texas Rangers, loud ones at that. Bass has pushed Charlie the furthest back, getting her as far from the danger as he can for the moment. He is the only one that can see past the tree and over the bushes to spot their opponents. If they're lucky, it's the Texans, whom they might even know.

He spots the horses early, but ignores the beasts completely in favor for astonishment. The men are wearing uniforms, but it's not Texan, which is clear from the Monroe Republic insignias that adorn them. These are his men, all the way south. What in god's name could they possibly be doing here?

Despite his surprise and inner turmoil, he deigns to wait until he can see their faces. He has a fair idea of which soldiers used to be loyal, and which ones would turn on him at the drop of a hat, or in his case, with Neville's encouragement.

"Captain Mason?" he asks as he escapes from their hiding place, pushing Charlie back as she tries to grab his wrist and stop him, or follow him out. She understands that she's supposed to be his back-up, and points her crossbow at the guy with the Captain stripes that Monroe addressed.

Captain Mason, for all of his impressive posture and muscled build, jumps at the sound of Monroe's voice and nearly falls of his horse, only righting himself just in time. The mare protests at the movement, but settles fairly quickly.

"General," the thirty-something-year-old hesitantly speaks as if he has seen a ghost. Most people are still under the impression Monroe was executed by Texas. To Bass' surprise, the man breaks out into a huge grin and speaks again: "You have no idea how glad we are to see you, sir."

The captain and his men dismount their horses and the two soldiers salute their leader. "Charlie," Bass calls out. The girl soundlessly appears beside him, crossbow aimed at the Militia men. "They're good, Charlie, put it down." She glances at him from the corner of her eye before doing as he says. The soldiers haven't reached for their swords once, haven't even considered it by the looks of it.

"Mason, this is Charlie Matheson, Miles' niece," he introduces, and the woman in question looks at him like she can't quite believe he practically sold her out. It's no secret that the Militia as a whole has a healthy hate and distrust for her uncle and everyone who shares his name and blood, even though they most likely still want Miles back.

The man raises his eyebrows, he can't quite manage one either, and tries to compose himself again. He doesn't succeed at all. "You're kidding right?" he asks, before looking back at his General and adding; "Sir."

"He's not," Charlie speaks up. "Who are you?" she asks suspiciously. The sight of the Republic brand on the captain's arm makes her own itch with phantom pain. Her hand reaches up to scratch at the marred skin on her wrist.

"Apologies, ma'am," she feels insulted at the title, but the weeks she served as a general with the Rangers discourages her from pulling a face. "I'm Captain Mason, and my men are Cohen and McKnight."

Bass, impatient with the niceties, gets them all back on track. "I wasn't sure any of you would ever be glad to see me again," he hints. Despite his okay to Charlie, he is still tense and ready for a fight, though you wouldn't know it by looking at him.

"We heard about the defectors sir, most of them have reconsidered," Cohen proudly inserts from behind his captain. "Yes sir," the second soldier continues: "We got most of them back at the camp, nine thousand men in all."

Bass seems to take it all in stride, mostly because not reacting has turned into a habit during his presidency, but Charlie can't close her yaw. "How many men?" she asks disbelievingly. It's nowhere near the numbers Texas has, but damn close to the former size of the Patriot invaders.

"Eight thousand and nine hundred thirty-two men and women, most of them Militia, and a handful of families and other stragglers we put through basic training, Sergeant Matheson." Right, she's still wearing her Texas jacket indicating rank.

Bass is reminded of Miles, who had been a sergeant when the dark days began. The title is horribly familiar, and he has a sudden urge to upgrade her a few ranks. Anything but sergeant and general, Miles and Bass both skipped everything in between.

"To the Texans maybe, for you, it's Colonel Matheson, Captain," Bass is quick to remedy. The soldiers glance from Charlie to Bass and back. "Of course, Mister President," McKnight respectfully replies.

It's ironic, Charlie thinks, Bass never cared for anyone in the Militia but Miles and his best friend's safety, but his soldiers obviously aren't aware of that, and seem to be more loyal than her uncle. Despite him being gone for almost a year, they take everything he says for granted. She has to keep thinking like that, otherwise she'll start fearing the consequence of this sudden encounter. The Monroe Republic fell for a reason, and she is not sure if Bass wants it back. If he thinks it will keep Connor close, he might just fall of the wagon.

"Where do all of you come from?" Charlie inquires. They've all been under the impression that the Monroe Militia got cut down to maybe three dozen soldiers.

"I was leading the regiment against the war clans from the south when the bombs dropped. The other Captains and Majors positioned by the Texan border and the border of the Republic itself gathered our troops and set up a refugee camp near Texas. They don't help, but as long as we pretend to be civilians they leave us alone to do as we please. We are getting by right now, but none of us know how to lead like you did, General." Mason is practically begging by the end of his short summary, because it couldn't have been that simple.

Charlie grabs Monroe's wrist to remind him exactly what happened the last time he let the Republic, and that he isn't mentally fit to manage a small army. Nine thousand men at the border…Bass had been really protective of his land it seems.

One of the soldiers sees the gesture and generally figures out his meaning. Before Bass can even mention his decision, Cohen speaks up again. He's young, probably a year or so younger than Charlie, but idealistic in a way she hasn't been in a while. His whole posture screams desperation. "At least come with us to see the camp before you make up your mind," he pleads.

Instead of replying, the former (or maybe not so former) President looks at Charlie. Just for a moment, she wonders if he'll order her execution and run of with his men to retake his Republic. The ridiculous thought disappears just as quickly as it came, replaced by the realization that he's looking at her for guidance of all things.

Swallowing every instinct that screams to walk away before they get themselves in trouble, she nods. "Lead the way," General Monroe orders.

Mason hands the reigns of his mare to his boss. She's the best horse they have, and the President always gets the best. Cohen gives his steed to Charlie, as she out-ranks him, and Mason commandeers McKnight's brown horse.

It takes two hours to get to the camp, during which Mason informs Charlie of everything he has been doing since the bombing. He seems to trust that she is his ally just because she was travelling with Monroe, who is awfully quiet. He seems to be lost in thought. At least he isn't scheming.

The soldiers have built a heavily guarded fence around thousands of Military tents, and Charlie can't quite believe how many there are. The gates open at their arrival, and they are greeted by the men on guard. "General?" the one on the right asks.

When Bass doesn't acknowledge the soldier, Mason does it for him. "It's him, Adam," he replies. Immediately, a whisper rises up behind the wooden fence. It washes over the camp like the waves crashed on the beach they just left. Hard and fast the knowledge of their arrival spreads, and by the time the horses are tied down by the entrance, people are creeping from their tents and stop doing whatever they were busy with to greet their president.

Most of these people hadn't been in Philly for months before the explosion, and remember Monroe like their savior. The man who made sure they were safe and fed and with roofs over their head. The man who protected their spouses and children while they deployed, and no one can save people from the nukes.

Charlie observes Monroe as the people cheer and feast like god himself has come down from heaven to save them. He is staring straight ahead, trying to keep himself from reacting to the noise, which always sets him on edge these days.

A few hundred feet ahead, and they are faced with eight men, three of which are openly grinning, four of which are just as happy, if a bit more composed than their fellow leaders. Bass's feet take him to the man that is doing neither. The Lieutenant-Colonel is his age, but shorter and leaner. His intelligence got him further up the ranks than his physical appearance. He looks relieved, but worried at the same time.

"Greyson, how bad is it?" he asks, straight to the point. He is hyper aware of Charlie behind him, reminding him every few seconds by subtly brushing her hand against his.

"We're not going to survive the winter, General Monroe. The radiation destroyed all of the crops, and the ground here is just not suited for vegetation. The harvest failed twice this spring, and we can't use the soil around Philly or Georgia for the next thirty years or so. The whole east-coast is mostly wasteland, which is why we haven't split the camp yet to regain what we lost. None of the other Republics have bothered yet, and we won't get the chance now. "

"Texas isn't offering any help?" Charlie questions. "Colonel Matheson," Greyson nods in her direction. News of her impromptu undeserved promotion has traveled quicker than she thought possible. "The Rangers have been concentrating on wiping out the Patriots, for which we are grateful. They have spent all their time and effort on the war, and are short on resources themselves. " Charlie had noticed that when she left. Food was being carefully rationed amongst the soldiers because they were running out.

"Lieutenant-Colonel, could the General and I speak in private somewhere?" That gets her frowns and the privacy of the nearby tent, which belongs to Greyson by the looks of it.

"I can't do this, Charlie," Bass blurts out the moment the flap closes and the zipper is down.

She wants to agree. She wants to nod and proudly tell him that it's a good thing that he knows his limits. Stupidly, she thinks of the sea of people that won't survive long enough to greet the New Year. They can't run. She gets now why Miles tried so hard to help her. The some hopeful look she gave him when they tried to save Danny is the same look hundreds just threw at President Monroe and Colonel Matheson.

"I think you can," she breaths out, catching his astonished gaze when his head lifts. "I know I'm probably the last person to tell you to go for it, but we can't let them all die, Bass. We can't. They need you."

"No," Bass stubbornly says, "the last time a Matheson said that to me, I went bat-shit crazy and almost got assassinated for my troubles. I'm not going through that again."

She should think this through, but somehow, it feels right to say it

"This time, I'll be right at your side, saving your ass." He isn't convinced, she can tell. It's time to up the ante. All-in.

"There might come a time when I decide to leave because one of us can't handle it." Bass looks like she punched him in the face, so she is quick to follow that sentence up: "And if I do, hell or high water, I'll drag you with me screaming and kicking to a nice little cabin by the ocean for as long as it takes, okay?"

Bass takes a deep breath, visibly prepares himself for another hellish adventure, and puts his forhead to hers. Blue meets blue, seeking for the truth and confirming the promise, before he straightens up.

"Okay." She stops him again when he reaches for the tent flap.

"But you need to promise me something." She continues at his nod, "Don't do this for you or me , don't do this for Connor or Miles, do it to save your people. They need you, they could be family." In the end, that's all Bass ever wanted. "If we do this, it's your duty, our duty, to keep them all safe. Agreed?"

He takes on last look at Charlie. "Agreed."


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N I am loving everything about this. Your reviews most of all! Let's see whom is going to keep whom sane...**

Two days. Two whole days of glorious vacation-time. That's a lie; they hadn't even reached the forty-eight hour mark. Pathetic. Well, if you counted the two hour long track from the beach to camp, you would, but she can't really say she enjoyed the walk. So…less than two days of vacation time. She's repeating herself.

Now, she's bending over maps and charts and supply forms and law books and paperwork. Towers of files and reports and requests and god knows what else cover six tables that have been pushed together and take up the whole of Greyson's huge tent, leaving a foot on each side where they can stand. Actually, the Lieutenant-Colonel handed over his tent (the biggest in the whole camp) to his General without prompting. Bass ordered this whole mess to be brought in, and is in his element as he hands out one file after another. A row of messenger-soldiers are waiting outside to keep up with the President's unbelievable speed as he distributes orders.

There twelve of them crowded around the table: Bass, Charlie and their ten highest ranking officers. She's glad to find out that most of the others are just as amazed by the President as she is, because she feels completely out of her element. It's no wonder they needed Monroe, it seems that Presidency takes a whole lot more than looking pretty and charming people. Sebastian Monroe is smarter than she'd ever given him credit for.

"Do you have a register of residents?" the man in question asks one of the Majors, his eyes skimming the table for the mentioned papers. The man nods and crouches. He lifts a huge tome from under the table and strains to get it up on the wood. It lands with a heavy thump, and the furniture creaks under its weight of a few kilos. "Name, age, rank, spouse, children, sector in the camp, temporary occupation, etcetera," the Major recites.

Charlie has never seen a book of this size. She's seen smaller cows. She moves closer to Bass, putting down the supply report she'd been reading (they're really not going to make it through the winter), and peaks past the man's shoulder to find neat columns with complete data on the Militia.

Bass reaches for a map of the camp, which is divided in sectors, Roman Numerals indicating fifty-five of them, about a hundred tents each, three a tent, with twenty left for crops and the animals. "First, we're going to re-divide the camp. We need all hands on deck, and I don't want to leave people unprotected."

The sectors on the map are eleven by five, where he starts in the middle exactly, shaking his head and almost crossing it out. He uses a pencil (even after the Black-out, they somehow never ran out of those,) and grabs an empty sheet on which he draws the same eleven by five, numbering them again. He doesn't use anything to keep the lines straight, but his steady hand magically creates flawless sectors.

"I want an assembly tent placed here, in sector twenty-seven," he says as he points to it with his other hand. Another messenger tries to run off, but Bass stops the kid who can't be older than fifteen. "Wait, kid, the people there will need a place to go first; we're not just kicking them out without giving them a new sector." The kid nods in understanding and proceeds to stare at the General in awe, not believing he got to meet his President.

"What's the status of our livestock?" he inquires with a captain on the other side of the tent, which seems to be completely unrelated as far as Charlie can tell. The addressed man gamely answers: "Meager, sir, only two sectors, even if they're overcrowded."

This is where Charlie interferes, because she knows more about livestock and farming than she ever wanted to. It's the result of a childhood in a small town where girls aren't allowed outside the gates. Not until they simply get up one day and sneak out to hunt like she did at fifteen.

"Make that three sectors, the health of the animals will go up if they get more space, and so will their numbers." She gets eleven surprised looks; they hadn't expected her to speak up, even if she was only below Bass in rank. "Also, move them to the sectors where the crops failed and use their current sectors for the crops, they should be fertilized by the livestock by now." Basic agriculture.

The men take in the new information, (and where are the women?), while Monroe nods and takes her word for it, circling and naming the sectors in his new map. "Children aged fourteen and under will be around the assembly tent, I want them as far away from the fence as possible. If Texas starts investigating, they will probably attack." Despite fighting dozens of battles for them (and winning each and every one), the Texans still don't particularly like Bass. If they hadn't needed Miles and his expertise to win the war against the Patriots, they'd have cut his best friend's head off.

"Who will be taking care of them?" Charlie asks, apparently she's the only one who's even thinking of questioning the General, the others seem content to do exactly as he says, no explanation needed.

"Who is taking care of them right now?" Bass asks first, before answering the intelligent question. He'd forgotten that three or more kids a tent without constant supervision is a bad idea. "Their mothers are, sir, mostly."

Bass grimaces. He re-checks the charts in front of him, flips through the pages and shakes his head. "We have to use every healthy woman, too, if we want to make it to Christmas," he states. "Most of them are soldiers, just like the fathers. Having them inside of their tents chasing after four-year-olds is not productive."

They all stand around the tables pondering the problem when the messenger kid hesitantly speaks up. "My mom has my grandfather watching over my two baby sisters."

Bass' eyes shoot toward the kid and his eyes light up. He flips through the registry, finger chasing over the numbers and nodding in satisfaction. "If we use everyone fifty and up, they can watch the kids. The numbers even out pretty evenly that way."

"Good job, son," Captain Mason says. He's closest to the kid, and puts a hand on his shoulder. The boy beams with pride. Monroe frowns at the pair, and Charlie suddenly sees what he just noticed. "That your son, Mason?" she asks. The question is unnecessary, the kid looks exactly like his old man. "Yes, Colonel," the captain answers proudly, clapping his son on the back.

She looks at Bass for permission, before giving her first order. "Start spreading the word. Everyone is going to have to move tents, so have them pack and be ready for transfer. We're gonna do this sector for sector. Use a few of the others outside, you're in charge." The kid jumps up and salutes her before turning on his heal. "Yes, ma'am, thank you," he shouts over his shoulder.

Bass is already back to finishing the map. "Parents are nearest to the kids, than everyone else. Farmers should be closest to the fields and livestock. Blacksmiths here and here, currency in sector nine, food in twenty-four, weapons in thirty-two." He continues in this matter for quite a while, systematically working through a list by chaotically and randomly placing the items on it throughout the camp.

At her questioning look, which he only sees after she subtly pokes him in the side, he clarifies: "It's the old Roman tactic. Spread your resources, so if you get attacked from the east and all of your food is there, you'll still have your money at the northern side and weapons west."

The Romans did built the biggest empire ever, if she remembers correctly, so it sounds like a sound plan to follow their tactics in strategic planning. Bass has probably leaved through every book on the subject that he could get.

"Where should we place the tents for you and the Colonel?" Mason asks after Monroe declares the map to be finished. "One at each entrance," Charlie speaks up for him. Messengers should be able to reach them quickly and she wants to be on the front lines if an army approaches. So one south, if Texas attacks, and one West, for precautions. Their eastern flank is protected by the sea, and north is nothing more than wasteland, so there are no entrances there.

Bass shakes his head. "One tent," he negotiates quietly with her. The realization hits her that he not only wants her to be safe, he wants her around to hold him back if he goes too far, and the entrances are almost a mile apart from what she understands. "One tent," she agrees out loud, "South entrance."

Their men don't seem surprised that the two want to share, but heavily protest at putting their two leaders at the largest hole in their security. Greyson insists they reconsider the loudest of the group, but they all shut up when Bass repeats the order.

Half the men in the tent move out to oversee the rearrangement of the tent while everyone left behind turns to the next problem. Food shortages in the winter; It's far too late to start new crops, especially since the number of available seeds is laughable. They don't have enough livestock for meat throughout the freezing season.

It's Texas, so it won't be that bad, they've been through worse up north, but without electricity, nights can still get deadly, especially in December and January. Last year had been one of the worst Texan winters in decades according to the Rangers.

She thinks back to that morning, which makes her aware of the smell in her bag. Bass had caught enough. The General had proved himself to be quite a fisherman. She has enough fish for two people to last the week. Not to mention that drying, salting, pickling and smoking could preserve the slimy animals for a week or two if they do it right, longer if they can get their hands on ice.

One look at Bass tells her he has noticed the fish too. It used to frighten her how well they work together on the battlefield and off it, but now it brings a certain sense of weird peace. "Do we have any fishermen?" she asks, because either they don't or she's missed the file, which is entirely possible with the mess spread out in front of her. Monroe turns back to the forms he'd been racing through, quietly getting more done while he trust Charlie to handle this. He hands of the fish in their bags to another messenger and has him bring it to the cooks. Charlie and Bass will be the last ones denied food if the shortages get bad anyway.

"How did we miss that?" Captain Leads looks like he could kick himself. "Probably because Philly was too far from the sea by foot to bother," Bass injects, not looking up from his paperwork.

"Aren't algae edible too?" the captain asks, a frown adorning his young face. Charlie suddenly notices that none of the officers are more than five years older than Bass.

"I used to love Sushi," the man next to him says longingly, agreeing with the captain. Greyson grimaces but nods as well. "Tasty, it is not, but it is very nutritious and easy to get. It should help increase our food supply, though the children are going to protest their veggies more than ever."

"We have more weapons than people," Bass mentions as he frowns at a report. He's never had over one gun for every soldier. "That's right, sir. We canvassed Philly for survivors as soon as we felt it was safe. The warehouses were outside of the blast radius." It seems his Roman urban planning paid had paid of already; by placing the warehouses that far apart he had saved them from the explosion. "And the other warehouses?" he asks, shoving at papers until he gets the inventory.

"Food went up in flames," of course, edible provisions had been closest to the city because it would spoil otherwise. "Clothing was untouched, which is how we can afford to have everyone in uniform when we go public. Archives are ashes, but those are useless anyway." Most of the archives had been the elaborate version of what covers the tables, and most of the people they were about died in the bombing. "Found it." He holds up the right document, which calls a halt to the summary. He has a detailed list of everything they got from their scavenging around the main city of the Republic.

"The Colonel and I have it covered, help the others with the move, I want as many as possible in their new location by nightfall. Start with moving the livestock, the first thing on tomorrow's to-do list is planting our left-over seeds in the fertilized ground."

The men salute and leave to coordinate everyone during what's going to be major chaos anyway. Bass looks amused with her astonished face. "You are scary good at this," Charlie gapes.

He grins, almost like he's high, but modestly says: "Practice," with a shrug, "I used to feel exactly like you look."

"Impressed?" Charlie asks, because she is definitely impressed. No wonder the Monroe Republic grew that quickly the first time. Desperate people in need for food will follow a charismatic and skilled leader like Bass without a second thought.

"Gobsmacked, Charlotte, you look absolutely gobsmacked." They're standing quite close, so Charlie easily pokes him in the ribs. He yelps, manly, he tries to convince her, and grabs her wrists, moving her until her back rests against his chest.

He has her trapped, so she stops struggling and relaxes. "I think it's time you teach me how to lead a the Monroe Republic, Mister President."


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N 10 reviews and all those favorites and alerts...You guys are really spoiling me silly! **

They keep working through the pile throughout the night. A soldier (a teenage girl this time) brings them food, which they'd forgotten all about. She also has Bass' and Charlie's uniforms, hers with a Colonel's insignia. Bass turns around without prompting, a gentleman as always. It's like he never switches his charm off.

The new clothes feel amazing on her skin. Charlie hasn't had things this nice since the Black-out when she was a little girl. The best part is her new shiny black boots. They are supple leather and seemingly made for her feet, even though they are standard issue. Her old boots are allowed to retire after almost a year of intensive use, she's had them since Willoughby the first time around.

She turns her back to him next, but she is neither gentleman, nor gentlewoman, and peaks over her shoulder at the rippling muscles of his back. The newly dubbed Colonel Matheson fails to see the point in pretending and turns all the way around so she can appreciate the half-naked General. She missed him changing his pants, damn he's quick, but at least she can ogle for a few more seconds.

"Like what you see?" the man asks without turning around. Monroe shrugs into his jacket and buttons it up with practiced fingers. He faces her and she grins and nods, not denying anything when she feels completely justified in taking a peek.

Despite his formal attire, Bass really doesn't look all that much different. In his case, clothes don't make the man; his presence is already overwhelming by itself. That isn't to say she cannot appreciate a man in uniform.

Not one for prudish-ness, Charlie takes the remaining steps to close the distance between them and kisses the General hard and fast, his hands flying to her hips. Regrettably, they have to come up for oxygen, and mutually decide to leave it at that one kiss right now. Progressing in a relationship while dealing with their new responsibilities is too dangerous a risk. They need to be stable right now, for both their sakes, and that of their people.

They're slightly out of breath when Captain Mason and his kid re-enter the tent sometime after midnight. The boy seems oblivious, but his father shoots a smirk at Charlie, whom he feels he can joke with a lot easier without fearing a reprimand.

"Report," Bass orders, not missing the look.

"Everyone is in position, General. You gotta love Militia efficiency." Every soldier had packed up and moved without much trouble. They were glad at the moment that someone was telling them what to do.

"Everyone?" Bass doubtfully asks. "You moved nine thousand people in less than fourteen hours." It's more of an incredulous statement than a question. He'd hoped to have half the camp in place at most by now. People just don't cooperate, even when it is in their best interest.

"Yes, sir. You trained us well. We're going to move the supplies to their new sectors first thing tomorrow while the farmers plant the seeds in the former livestock sectors. Also, your tent by the southern entrance is ready according to your previous requirements. Cadet Mason will bring you while I return to check on the patrols."

"Good job, Captain, we will go over the shift schedule sometime tomorrow. I'm considering removing the guards on our right flank by the ocean, that's almost a hundred men free to spend their time on the urgent jobs. Maybe west and north as well."

"Won't that leave us completely vulnerable?" Charlie asks. Mason looks grateful that she inquired for him. He is under the impression she invokes less anger with their General. She'd like that to be true, but it definitely isn't.

"It will, but if we put scouts here and here," he points to several locations on the map, "we'll have an advance warning and will be able to get the troops there in time. For now, we're just refugees. The Texans will try to negotiate before they attack, especially since their numbers were cut down by the Patriots and their supplies are just as low as ours. It's an acceptable risk. We'll change it back when the flags go up."

His Colonel and Captain are still hesitant, but he speaks with such conviction that they have no choice but to rely on his expertise. "I'll take my leave," the captain speaks up after a thought-filled silence. He's mostly outside the tent when he turns on his heel. "Oh, we were wondering if you would be willing to speak to the people tomorrow. The others and I feel everyone needs to hear some encouraging words coming from you."

Bass nods and watches him leave before turning to the man's son. "I'm going to stay up for a while, could you show the Colonel to our tent? I'll find my way there myself once I'm done here."

"Whoa," Charlie calls them both to a halt, the same sound she makes when she reigns in her horse. "You are coming with me, General," she orders, "You need some rest."

"Charlotte," he sighs, glancing at the pile of paper they barely dented today. "I have got a lot of work left to do. Get some sleep and I'll see you at dawn. I've gone longer without sleep than this."

And this is where Charlie reminds him of her main role in the camp. It's her job to make sure he takes care of himself and to keep him sane. Crazy is a lot easier to catch when suffering from sleep deprivation.

"Sebastian," she mockingly sighs back, his full name flawlessly rolling off her tongue, "The papers will still be here tomorrow. You need to pace yourself. March." She angles her head to the tent flap where the Cadet is still waiting, quite skillfully attempting to pretend he isn't listening.

"We'll be back by sunrise," she tries to bargain, "Just a three hour nap, that's all."

He gives in and they follow the younger Mason south toward the fence. Charlie keeps an eye on Monroe, who walks half a step behind her observing the change in scenery and noting problems that she can't even see are there.

She finds out that the kid's twin died in Philly, where he was enlisted in Militia boot camp while his brother was with the family at the border. The young Colonel quietly takes in whatever the kid is willing to share, and realizes that the boy loves his Republic like Nora loved the United States. It's a refreshing perspective, not one she wants all that much, but definitely what she needs if she wants to make it through the winter with Monroe's people, co-leading said people.

Bass has half an ear reserved for their conversation and uses the other to pick up the whispers. Soldiers in civilian clothes greet him with respectful nods when he catches their eye, which he returns dutifully. With the exception of the higher ranks he can't name any of these men or women. They'd spent most of their lives guarding the border from invasions; he has never met them because of that. Yet, these seem to be his most loyal followers. He has walked a mile without his fully armed guard and hasn't been attacked once. He can't boast he ever did the same in Philly. Bass has a fresh start here, a chance to do it better the second time.

It won't be perfect, as President he is one of the dozen people left in the world that knows you can't create Utopia, but he can get damn near close. He'll have to keep an eye on Charlie, who has no idea how to handle an army, but knows perfectly fine which of his buttons to push to stop him from doing something stupid; like working two days straight without closing an eye. She adapts unbelievably quickly to every situation that gets thrown her way, and bluffs her way through the rest. It's his duty to call her on it when she does. Experience has taught him how deadly bluffing can be when there are thousands watching your every move. He has to protect her from that as well as he possibly can.

"Here we are, General, Colonel," the kid says pointing at the biggest tent in the viscinity.

"Thank you, Max, you're dismissed," Charlie smiles as he leaves with a yawn. They enter the tent, Bass stepping in front of her to make sure there are no assassins waiting for them (it's a hard habit to break), before keeping the flap open and waving her in.

As far as tents are concerned, they have the honeymoon suite as far as she can tell. Everything she could need is in there, including their bags which someone took away around dinnertime. A brand new sword belt lies on her cot, which looks quite comfortable. She notices her own exhaustion suddenly and moves the belt out of the way to lie down. She wants to check on Bass, but her eyes are already closing.

"Goodnight, Bass," she says sleepily, staying awake just long enough to hear him lie down three feet to her right. "Night, Charlotte."


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N I'm blushing like crazy guys, so many compliments!**

He must've been dead on his feet. Bass planned on getting back up the moment Charlie's breath evened out, but he notices the plan hasn't worked when he wakes at a finger poking at his healing ribs. He suddenly realizes that Charlie used his limited eyesight to break it in the first place. Huh, who would've guessed?

"It's been three hours," she whispers, "You want to get up?" No, not particularly. He would prefer to trip her up and pull her onto his cot to cuddle. Unfortunately, he has responsibilities, and Sebastian Monroe doesn't cuddle.

He takes a deep breath and forces himself to stand. His vision blackens for a second but clears up quickly. He focuses on his roommate, who (like him) is still in uniform, somehow impeccable with the exception of her messy hair. She's already threading her fingers through her locks and miraculously getting it back in shape without even glancing at their mirror.

His own hair looks messy no matter what he does with it, so he grabs his sword belt and pushes it through the loops on his pants. Charlie's belt is next to his boots, where she dumped it last night. He picks it up and steps toward her.

She watches him, holding out her hands to receive it. Instead, he turns her around and loops the belt for her. "Most men would spend their time undressing me," she mentions with a laugh. Charlie is determined to start the day on a light note, because it's only going to get worse from here on out. "I'm not most men," Bass quips back, catching on to her strategy.

She twirls back to face him and looks him up and down, checking him out as obviously as she can, her eyes moving from his feet to his baby-blues, which is when she quietly admits: "No, that you are not."

They track back to the tent they spent most of yesterday in, but Bass guides Charlie to the right three turns early. "We moved the assembly tent to the middle of the camp, remember?" It's cute how he says we when they both know she'd been staring at him with her yaw practically on the ground when he made that decision. "Right," she nods.

Captain Leads is waiting for them when they arrive. "We planned your speech at breakfast, sir," he reports as soon as they are close enough. They enter the tent, finding two other men and one woman with Sergeant Stripes. They greet their superiors with nods before turning their attention back to the stack of files that Bass had shoved in the 'done' pile during his paperwork-binging.

Charlie's nose twitches in distaste at another day in the tent, and pulls Bass back out. "We're helping with moving the supplies, my eyes are going to cross permanently if I have to read another report."

"I have a year-long backlog to sift through," he protests, trying to move back to where they just came from.

"Which can wait another day," she stubbornly insists.

"No it can't. You can go and help if you want to, but I'm staying here, Charlotte."

They're facing of, each with crossed arms and the beginnings of a fight in their postures. They're overdue for some anger-outlet. They have been sparring almost every day back in the Texan camp, which is how she and Miles kept Monroe cooled down.

"People need to see you," she argues, "You need to see them, know what they're going through."

"They'll see me during the speech in an hour, that's what it's for in the first place."

"The last time you locked yourself in your office, this Republic went to hell," she hisses through her teeth, mindful of the surrounding soldiers. "The Militia took the women in the towns away, they took more taxes than they were allowed, they broke down our fences and killed at the drop of a hat." It's a whole list of grievances that had been piling up in her mind long before Neville's men killed her dad and took her brother. It's longer than what she just listed, but they serve their purpose.

"What?" he says louder than he must've intended. "Yeah," she replies, "you wonder why the rebels suddenly started growing in numbers, that's why. The Republic angered a lot of people when it got out of control, and you were so busy with yourself in your quarters that you didn't notice."

"My best friend had just tried to kill me," Bass defends himself.

"Then you should've stepped down," she manages to yell quietly. "God knows what happened to those girls, how many innocents were shot, what the children in your re-education camps went through." She pulls up the sleeve of her uniform, the brand still red against her skin. It's not the first time she's confronted him with it, and it won't be the last. "Miles had been gone for years by the time Neville took Danny. You had all that time to recover."

"That's not fair, Charlotte," Bass grinds out, trying to keep a grip on his anger and sanity at the same time. Charlie of all people knows he has no control over his mental state, and the time between Miles leaving and the youngest Matheson shooting an arrow at his head had been the hardest he's ever faced. Even Miles, for all his corruptive influences, kept Bass mostly stable. It seems like he really can't live without a Matheson by his side. Thank god it's Charlie, and not Rachel, that followed in Miles' footsteps. He's pretty sure he and Rachel would've wiped out all life on earth.

Despite her experience with Bass' problems, the young woman still can't really understand it, not without going through it herself. Charlie can't imagine being that oblivious to the world around her, caged in a world of paranoia and death of her own design. She likes to think she would've crawled out of it if she had been standing in his shoes.

"General," a cadet shouts once he sees the man in question after turning a corner. "The Texans are on their way, we have five hours." The young man is out of breath, his hands on his knees as he pants.

Both Bass and Charlie temporarily forget their fight. There'll be many more like it anyway, and neither of them won this time. "Why so quickly? I thought we'd have a week, at least." It's Charlie who says it, but they're all thinking it. They are not even close to ready to fighting the Republic on the south. She'd been hoping for a treaty, Bass had been devising ways to keep them at a standstill like he had with Philly.

"We don't know, Colonel. It's a twenty men team. Our spotter doesn't know any of the players, so we don't have an ID for them. Half of the rangers are on foot, so we have time. Orders?"

He's terrified. Everyone who listened in is scared. Texas outnumbers them five to one, and that's not counting a huge number of civilians. The camp will be obliterated if they get made.

Bass, who has done this dozens of times before remains the calmest, especially since he has already been preparing for this. "Move up my speech and get the people up and about. Everyone in civilian clothes and long sleeves; I don't want anyone with a visible brand near the outsiders." He raises his voice, addressing everyone in a twenty feet radius. They salute and scatter, more or less leaving Charlie and Bass alone in the middle of the camp.

"The Texans hate you," Charlie helpfully reminds him, "They want your head on a spike by their border. If they find out the camp is Militia…," she trails off. If they even suspect Monroe's gone power crazy and plans on re-creating the Republic, they'll slaughter everyone on base. Bass stays silent.

People suddenly appear by the dozen, moving to the makeshift stage that someone must have set up earlier that morning. It takes about ten minutes to collect enough residents that they reach further than the eye can see. The crowd is jittery with excitement, but those who know the situation are shivering in bone-chilling fear.

When Bass steps up, Charlie next to him, they fall silent. The President observes his Militia, considering what to say to get everyone back in the right mindset.

"I wish to start by thanking each and every one of you," he says, his powerful voice spreading his words on the wind, "Never before have I seen loyalty like you have shown me, and you deserve my admiration. Your quick thinking and your rapid actions have brought you here, where you were able to save yourselves and protect your loved ones. Right now, the Colonel and I, coupled with the assistance of the Militia's highest ranking officers, are figuring out how we are going to get every single one of you through the winter. Rest assured, we are succeeding. I commend the people who worked hard yesterday to move everyone in position, and encourage you all to help today with moving the supplies." Bass pauses for a second, allowing the crowd to take in his words of praise and watch their reactions, before addressing them with urgency:

"As many of you know, the Texans have sent a small regiment that is on its way to us." Whispers break out, and the General asks them to quiet down simply by raising his hand. "Remember, it is not an army coming our way. For now, they are just negotiators trying to assist a refugee camp." The army isn't coming, _yet_, he can hear them all think. Soldiers know how quickly things can turn ugly, and they're not even a two day's walk from the nearest Texan camp, which is where he and Charlie came from. "I don't want to see anyone left in uniform by the end of the hour. Civilian clothes, long sleeves. We don't want them to know that almost everyone here is capable of fighting like General Matheson taught you." He observes the nods that wave through the crowd in agreement.

"Speaking of which," he adds, stepping aside to indicate Charlie, who stood half-hidden in his shadow. "This is Colonel Matheson. " He leaves out that she's related to their former co-leader, the soldiers are smart enough to make the connection. That, and he still doesn't know whether to introduce her as Miles' niece or daughter. It's better not knowing. It's not like Miles will love her any less for it.

Charlie stands tall and proud, trying to imitate Bass and succeeding quite nicely. Her hands are clasped behind her back so the others can't see them shaking. Hundreds salute her, blindly trusting that she won't pull a Miles and desert them when they need her the most.

"When we give the signal," Charlie says, her voice not nearly as powerful, but hard like steel, like she is confident and practiced in this kind of thing, "Half of you will return to your tents. We need the Texans to underestimate our numbers." Worst case scenario, the Rangers will send too few soldiers their way and buy them some time. A quick look to Bass confirms that they are done. "Dismissed," she says, watching in awe as they do exactly as she says.

Charlie thinks of Bass' speech. She'd alwas thought that it was just Mathesons that seemed to be unable to resist Sebestian Monroe, but learned today that there is a whole army at their beck and call that won't say no to him either.

They move off the stage and find a woman waiting for them. "Sir, ma'am," she greets, "We identified the head Ranger, it's Wilkins." The name doesn't ring a bell with either of them, but the woman isn't done yet. She obviously doesn't think Wilkins is a threat, and yet she still looks nervous. They brace themselves to hear her report.

"Miles Matheson is with them."

**A/N I couldn't resist. I tried, Couldn't... I've been dying to write Miles again since I re-introduced the Militia. Hope you had fun reading, I'm gonna have lots of fun writing!**


	10. Chapter 10

"What now?" Bass asks Charlie. He's completely clueless this time, and also slightly terrified. The last time he had the Republic, Miles tried to kill him in his sleep. The thought shuts down his brain function, which leaves him completely dependent on Miles' niece. The girl in question seems just as stumped.

He doesn't want to destroy everything he and Miles repaired in their relationship. After the mustard gas incident they have been bonding again over the war with the patriots. No one can fight as well with a partner as he and Miles can. It's the result of decades worth of practice.

"Miles can't see you here, he'll know," she states. Start at the beginning, than baby steps in the right direction.

"Which is why he definitely isn't allowed to catch a glimpse of me. My presence in a refugee camp is a dead give-away, more so if I start negotiating." Bass seems to recover his momentum, picking up where she left off. "But he won't suspect you."

"You're kidding right? Miles can see right through me, always has." The man has a sixth sense for when she's about to do something stupid.

"As far as your Uncle is concerned, you can't really do anything wrong. Besides, we can't exactly let Greyson take care of the problem, the Militia needs to see us do this."

"He's one rank below me,"

"As far as the Militia is concerned, yes. According to the Republic however, you're the First Lady, which puts you on the same level as the President. It enables you to act in my stead."

This information is new to her, but Bass has obviously spent some time pondering it. It's one of the reasons he asked for one tent instead of two. It was as much of a tactical decision as it was personal.

"You want me to negotiate with Wilkins and Miles, because our people believe I'm your wife," she asks for clarification, making a note to chew him out for that later, "While you do what exactly?"

"I'll be playing security for all the Mathesons in my camp. In case you've forgotten; Miles is a deserter as far as the Militia is concerned, they want him to pay." It's ridiculous how his first priority is still Miles' safety over his own. Especially when he expects Miles to kill him the moment the former General figures out what he and Charlie are doing. It doesn't matter as Miles has already proven he can't deliver the final blow. They are already past three time's a charm by now. Bass and Miles might still brothers, but there will be some trigger that will push Miles to kill his best friend. Bass just hopes he'll never find it, but he's sure hopes it won't be this.

"What am I supposed to negotiate for anyway?" They already know Texas doesn't have enough for themselves to hand out leftovers for free.

"Just bargain for everything you can imagine a refugee camp needing. We don't want them to know anything about the status of the supplies, so keep the conversation centered on food as much as possible. Try to keep them outside the gates if you can. If you can't, don't let them get beyond the kitchens, they'll see that we're moving supplies."

This is followed up with more advice and hints for three hours straight while they prepare the camp. Bass interrupts his own monologue frequently to chastise stragglers and hand out orders like candy. They hide as much signs of the Monroe Republic as they can see, covering the more obvious Military tents and getting rid of the dossiers lying around the assembly tent. It's not in the planning to let the Texans get that far, but they can't be too obvious in their distaste of the Ranger's presence.

He sends Charlie to the gate by herself to wait for her guests while he takes care of a few last-minute problems. "Don't forget to change!" he hollers after her, which she acknowledges with a wave of her hand.

Charlie walks out of sight and suddenly realizes that this is the first time in three days that Bass hasn't been with her. It makes her twitchy. She'd doesn't completely trust that he can be left alone, even if it's less than half an hour, not with Miles on his way. She should trust her instincts more.

She finds their tent automatically and exchanges her uniform for her usual get-up, talking her crossbow to add to her weaponry.

The guards, visibly less armed and dressed like ordinary citizens, let her through the gate. One of them says the Texans are a mile out, but one man down. The same war clan that had attacked on the beach had tried to wipe out the small regiment, not expecting that Miles could single-handedly take them out.

Charlie paces back and forward, finding it strangely comforting that all of the guards will protect her with everything they have. She spots Bass slipping into the shadows between the tents with an encouraging nod.

The horses are easily spotted from a few minutes out. Tired of waiting, she approaches them. Miles is easily recognizable from a distance, but apparently, so is she. His horse gallops toward her with neck-breaking speed and stops just before it hits her. He dismounts.

'"Charlie," he says, "What the hell are you doing here? Where's Bass?"

She carefully recites the lie they thought up last minute. Putting effort into it would've ben a waste of time. "Bass is at the beach, we ran out of whiskey. I volunteered to get some." It's not convincing. Like she'd suspected; he sees right through her.

"So you left Bass, at the beach, overnight, and won over the hearts of the refugees. Which is how you got chosen to negotiate with the Texas Republic. Am I right?" He clearly doesn't believe a word she's saying, but they're interrupted by the rest of the Rangers.

"Matheson!" Wilkins reprimands, "What were you thinking?" Miles shuts the leader up with a look and stares at Charlie, trying to figure out exactly what she was lying about. Maybe Bass took off and she's doing this in return for his location. It's a more comforting possibility than the others he's considering.

"Who are you?" Wilkins continues, his tone indicating what he thinks of young women in leading positions. A quick look around confirms that the left-over regiment is men-only.

"I'm the camp's representative," she says, a quick glance at Miles to see if he will interfere. The man seems content to stay silent and frown thoughtfully, for which she mentally sighs in relief.

Wilkins is obviously in a hurry, so he doesn't even bother to suggest moving and plainly tells her that as long as they don't cause any trouble, the refugees can stay put. He half-heartedly adds that they will try to lent a hand when they are able to, which will be in February at the earliest. It takes about ten minutes and then the Rangers seem to be ready to move on to a camp left of Monroe's. They won't be able to help yet, anyway, no sense in wasting time.

Charlie watches as Miles addresses Wilkins, and keeps her eyes on the Rangers as they head west, leaving her Uncle behind for her to deal with. They return to the safety of the base. Well, safety for her, Miles is in more danger than he can even begin to imagine.

She gestures for the guards to let them in, but asks Miles to hand in his gun first. She doesn't ever want to see Bass and Miles point those at each other again. He does so without protest, following her while his eyes take in the tents and people. As soon as they are out of range for the guards, he shouts: "Bass! Where are you, you son of a bitch?"

Charlie pulls at his arm. "What are you doing?" she hisses. She's wondering the same thing. Monroe should be close, but she can't spot him anywhere.

"I recognize Bass' handiwork everywhere, kid." He pauses. " Bass!" he bellows again, "You have new shiny boots and a new belt, you get sent out to meet the Texans, and I'm recognizing my men everywhere in this camp. Is there actually a real civilian around?" He doesn't wait for her answer, renewing his shouts for the President. Funny how he still calls the Militia his. She could use that.

He drags her along by her arm, straight to the assembly tent, which he shouldn't even be aware of. He knows the lay-out because Bass always set up his camps exactly the same, jsut like the Romans did. It makes it easier for tranferred soldiers to navigate. It was one of the more obvious clues that alerted him to Monroe's influence. He has left his prints all over the camp in just two days.

"When I told you to keep an eye on Bass, I meant for you to step in if he got out of hand," he says without looking at her as he sets his eyes on the tent. "Gathering an army is out of hand. How did you even get this many in two days? Has he been sneaking of?" He doesn't seem to want an answer, but she digs in her heels, ready to start a fight. Charlie doesn't get the chance.

Miles draws his sword and points it over her shoulder as he turns, where Bass is standing. A gun cocks. Miles feels the metal against his neck and lowers his blade, not taking his eyes of the man he calls a brother. "I like your niece a lot better than I ever liked you, General," Captain Mason says conversationally as he digs the barrel into Miles' flesh. "So does the President these days, I imagine."

Bass, who said he would protect Miles, isn't lifting a finger to stop the captain. He's waiting for something, but she doesn't have the patience for his games.

Charlie takes in the two dozen soldiers, their guns pointed at her uncle. She rips his sword out of his hand. "Everybody, put them down!" she orders. They hesitantly listen, only because Mason seems content to keep his exactly where it is. "Mason," Charlie warns when he doesn't move, "Down."

Mason reluctantly does as she says, clicking the safety back on. "Yes, Colonel."

"Colonel?" Miles speaks up, still looking at Bass instead of her. "What were you thinking?"

"I was thinking Monroe and Matheson two-point-oh has a nice ring to it. Your men seem to agree," Bass says. Charlie notices the start of an episode. Miles' presence must've triggered something. His walls are back up to protect his heart, while they damage his mind.

She steps on Miles' foot to shut up whatever stupid comment he had chosen to make. "It's time you start trusting Bass again, Miles," she says. Mason can hear her, but the others can't.

"Trust him?" Miles replies, "Look at him, he can't handle whatever the two of you are planning." It's sad that her uncle can't seem to notice that Bass has more sane moments that non-sane ones. He only ever sees the bad in Bass these days because he is scared that he'll forget how dangerous his best friend can be, how ruthless he used to be himself. The distrust is doing them both more harm than good.

"We're not planning anything yet. They need our help to get through the winter."

Miles snorts, barely noticing the fact that he is surrounded by hostiles, or just very good at ignoring it. "You think he's going to stop there and walk away. We both know he's not."

"You should listen to your niece for once, Miles. She's a better person than we'll ever be," Bass injects. Charlie's defence of his intentions have staved off the attack temporarily.

"You don't need to tell me that, Bass. It's why I sent her with you. I should've known you'd find a way to get her on your side."

"Hey!" Charlie protests, "If you really want to know, I was the one that forced him to stay. I've never let him force me to do anything I didn't want to."

Their dirty laundry will be all over base by nightfall with the noise they're making. Speaking of which; Miles almost breaks his neck when he turns back to Bass. "Didn't want to?" Miles says, tone low and threatening, "Bass, what is she talking about?"

"Miles!" Charlie pushes her foot back onto his toes, trying to crush them this time. It's the first time in her life she actually wishes she were wearing heels. "I can speak for myself, nothing I do is his fault. The same goes for you."

Her uncle pulls his foot from underneath hers, moving his toes to ensure she didn't break them. "You're coming back to Willoughby with me. Come on, Charlie."

The guns go back up, and this time Bass does interfere. "Holster them," he speaks quietly.

"With all due respect, sir," the woman from the assembly tent that morning takes the safety off her weapon, "We decline."

"Charlotte," he addresses, "get them to stand down." Bass is seeing something she doesn't if he's asking her something that weakens his own position. Honestly, she doesn't want them to stand down. She's pissed at Miles. She's pissed at Bass. While she's recounting people she's pissed at, her mom, Connor, Jason, Neville, Truman, and her dad too, now that she thinks about it.

The soldiers aren't standing down because she doesn't want them to. They're waiting for her signal. It's like they can tell that Bass isn't completely okay, and they refer to her in his stead. He doesn't look all that happy about it, though Miles smirks. "Who's going soft now? A puppy holding a kitten, wasn't it?"

"Shut up, Miles," he seems to have tensed up even more since Miles said Charlie is leaving. Bass is setting himself up to get kicked while he's down. The youngest Matheson is going to have to choose between him and her family. The half-crazy President versus her uncle, mother and grandfather.

"You're gonna have to pick, Charlie." It's neither Miles nor Bass who says it, but captain Mason. His gun is the only one still down, though he looks ready to draw.

"What? No," she crosses her arms defensively. Monroe is already walking away "Bass," she calls, running to catch up. He stops. "Go be with your family, Charlotte." If not Miles, it will be Rachel taking her away.

"Remember what I said when we first met?" she asks, a hand in his, interlocking their fingers to keep him from pulling away. Of the generals, Bass has always been quicker with showing his emotions.

All he remembers is Charlie stepping in front of Strausser's gun, willing to die to keep the tanks and helicopters on the ground. "I said that there are things more important than family. That the lives of that many people were worth more than my life and more than Danny's."

Miles has overheard, and looks defeated, like he can't believe that he lost Charlie already. "We are all family. You know it, Miles knows it, but I choose the people. We, all three of us, have nine thousand soldiers that need us to work together. You need to bury whatever problem you have and get over it." It won't be that simple, but she's sick of seeing them fight when they both want back what once was."You wanted to save people by starting the Monroe Republic. Why can't we do that now? It's a second chance." Charlie's been all about second chances since Tom Neville almost killed her.

Bass hides his surprise and elation well. In his euphoria, coupled with the need for Miles back at his side, no matter how many times things have gone wrong, Bass tentatively offers his brother in all but blood a way back, just like he did in Philly what already seems like a lifetime ago. "We can arrange for a pardon, all you have to do is say yes."

"I'll think about it."

Charlie suddenly notices that the guns are still pointed at Miles. Huh, she'd forgotton all about those. "People! Weapons down."

**A/N So, Miles is back(-ish) after he went on a nice little rampage. I think I captured their reactions well, and that they're all still In Character, but I'll leave that to y'all to decide. Hope you ejoyed it, and the next update will very extremely likely be tommorow (Like every chap I've posted... Is it arrogant if that makes me just a little bit proud?)**


	11. Chapter 11

Miles marches into the tent, where he finds a huge surface of what are probably desks covered in blankets, hiding whatever is beneath them from view. He lifts the brownish wool cloth to uncover Bass' archives and grabs whatever is on top. He might not have Monroe's skill with paperwork, there is a very good reason that he asked Bass to become president (Miles has neither the charm, nor the patience for it), but he can read a rapport and draw the necessary conclusions.

Charlie moves to follow her uncle and try to reason him into helping, or guilt him into it if she has to. A hand on her cheek halts her in her actions, guiding her head back to her companion. Blue eyes gaze into her own blue orbs as Bass lowers his head and gently kisses her. It's short, almost chaste, but it conveys everything he wants to say and more. Still, he says it out loud as he softly pulls back, trying to make the contact linger: "Thank you," he whispers. For not choosing Miles over me, for not leaving, for keeping me sane, for calling me family, are left unsaid.

The two of them move into the assembly tent, locking the others out against their protests. They should've done this long before anyone started shouting and throwing around half a dozen conversation, but hind sight is always twenty/twenty.

Bass stays close to the entrance, looking ready to run if Miles does anything threatening. Charlie takes up the position between the best friends, leaving the three of them in a neat line next to the tables.

"You're screwed," Miles observes as he flips through the papers, just skimming the relevant information. He was pretty sure the Militia he trained should be better at survival than this. "Who was in charge before you picked up the slack?"

"Lieutenant-Colonel Greyson," Charlie answers, trying to find out if her uncle is leaning toward his option A: Becoming General, B: leaving, or C: blowing up the camp.

"Greyson, huh," he snorts. Bass was the one who kept promoting the man. Personally, Miles thinks he is only smart on paper, which explains the current state of affairs.

"Funny that you're exactly one rank above him, Colonel Matheson." He emphasizes her title with just a hint of mocking, and what might be a hint of pride, even if she wasn't actually promoted according to the rules. "Or should I say; First Lady Matheson?" If they're sleeping together, like Charlie implied, they'll be sharing a tent, probably the one he spotted at the southern entrance, where her bag was just visible because she hadn't closed it in her haste to meet the Rangers. And rules of the camp have always been; no co-ed tents unless you're married. It would explain why the soldiers behaved like they did.

"Yeah," Charlie confronts Bass, just like Miles intended, "How about you explain that one to me."

Bass looks completely unrepentant. "I might've forgotten to mention the less relevant consequences of sharing a tent." There's that conformation, Miles thinks; definitely involved. He should've seen it coming when he sent them into the wilderness together. Heck, he noticed right away that Bass had an eye on her when she brought her then enemy to Willoughby. Back then, he'd just been glad that his niece hated Bass' guts and tried to keep it that way (sans murder attempts of course).

"You don't think implying to nine thousand soldiers that I'm your wife is relevant?" she says incredulously.

"Speaking of which," Bass deflects, though the change in subject is hardly subtle, "Where is your leash-holder?" At his friend's confused expression he clarifies; "Rachel?" He still doesn't like the woman, and never will, god knows it's mutual. He's spent half his life fighting her for Miles' attention, and most of that he's been losing. She started the rift between the two generals, and is the cause of half the burdens on his shoulders, and the indirect cause of his fragmented sanity. Rachel doesn't have the excuse of blaming him, she was half insane by the time he and Miles imprisoned her in Philly, though she could easily find half a dozen reasons to blame her boyfriend.

Charlie looks faintly interested in the answer. She supports her mom and Miles in their relationship, but things between the Matheson women were still strained. She hadn't forgiven the older woman for cheating on her dad, or for leaving, for turning the power off, and uncountable other reasons she had mentally listed in her head. Spending most of the past half year with Bass hadn't exactly helped her opinion of her mother.

"We had a fight," Miles grudgingly admits, "I needed some time to cool off." It hasn't exactly been smooth sailing for the two of them either. Before either of them can ask what the subject was this time, he continues: "Benjamin came up."

Charlie flinches, because that's bad, while Bass tries to hide his grin even though Miles is turned away from him. Ben Matheson seems to spark up arguments and hate whenever he's mentioned these days. It's a sad legacy for an unbelievably good man. Charlie's dad is a constant reminder of exactly how doomed the relationship between his widow and his younger brother is, not to mention that his daughter can't really stop blaming Bass for his death, and a constant reminder that she failed to protect her baby brother after rescuing him from the Republic like she promised her father.

Charlie notices the look on the president's face and draws back her fist, again trying to hit his rib, which will never completely heal if she keeps up bruising the fragile bone. He subtly intercepts her punch and wipes the grin from his face, suddenly reminded that Benjamin Matheson is not a good subject for him either. Miles misses the exchange.

"She's in Willoughby with Gene, I promised her I'd be back by the end of the week." It's a Monday, so they have six days, which seems far too short. Charlie will take what she can get. "You gonna tell on me?" she asks her uncle, and suddenly Bass perks up again. Miles might keep his mouth shut, but Rachel will personally march the whole Texan army to their gate. They won't stand a chance.

Miles tries to look like he doesn't care. "Why? The camp won't make it anyway, you're out of everything." He hasn't seen the weapons manifest yet. Good.

"Already taken care of," Bass states slightly arrogantly. They have the narrowest margin for errors he's ever faced, but they've only been back for just over a day. Not bad at all.

"In what, three days?" Miles doesn't believe him.

"Actually, just over one day," Charlie says, just a tiny bit of pride shining through in her voice. "Bass is good at this stuff."

"He is," Miles agrees reluctantly, Bass was an amazing president before Miles dragged them both down the pit, "Wait, just a day?"

"We did go to the beach first, you know," Charlie grins, "I wasn't lying completely." She was, the whiskey isn't even gone yet. Miles involuntarily thinks of the worst case scenario, namely; Bass and Charlie completely alone and drunk on the beach. Knowing the sap, they probably watched the sunset. He's going to throw up. He needs a drink.

"Yeah, really don't want the details," Miles interrupts before she can continue. He has no idea that his niece is messing with him.

"Colonel, General," a soldier interrupts. It's Cohen, the one that accompanied Mason on the beach where they were found. "We need someone to supervise the move of supplies at the east side. A group has gone with Captain Leads to scope out the fish supply."

The three exchange looks. Miles can't go, he's a traitor and a deserter until everyone agrees he gets a Pardon, while Bass was supposed to do paperwork for the rest of the day. The fight seems like ages ago already. "Can I leave the two of you alone, or do I have to get a baby-sitter?"

Honestly, Bass is pretty curious as to who Charlie would choose to interfere if he or Miles tried to attack one another. She only really knows Mason, and the captain will let Bass do anything he pleases, if the stand-off was any indication of his loyalties.

"We'll survive, Charlotte," he answers for the both of them. Miles nods in agreement; at least they can work together on this, if only for her. The girl follows Cohen out and leaves the generals.

"You can't do this again, Bass," Miles says as soon as she is out of ear-shot. He leaved Bass' condition implied, but follows up in case he didn't catch the subtext. "You were getting better." Sad that Miles had noticed, but doesn't trust his brother anyway. "I can't do this."

Despite his need to have Miles at his side, he attempts to push him away. He's not stupid enough to think the man won't run away again. He has Rachel to get home to now.

"I don't need you Miles." It's half a lie and half a truth. Miles always had his family to turn to, while Bass was completely dependent on his best friend since the day his family was wiped out. Now he has Charlie.

He's spent decades doing everything Miles says because he couldn't chance it. Bass doesn't want to be alone, and Miles was his only family. He had him, and wanted to keep him. So he swallowed his tongue, listened more, supported his friend's ideas for a Republic, all so Miles wouldn't get pissed and leave him without ny family at all. In the long run, it had harmed their relationship. Not beyond repair, it seems they will never reach that point, but definitely started the cracks that grew wider and wider until he woke up with a gun pointed at his head. He can risk losing Miles now, (not that he wants to,) because his Colonel, his First Lady, will be there to pick him back up.

"We've done this before, Bass," Miles tries another tactic, "I almost drank myself to death, and you tried to burn down Jasper." It's a low blow, but if it works…

Bass doesn't back down. "Last time, we didn't have Charlie." What's the saying again? Behind every great man, there is an even greater woman.

Just with that, Miles looks half-way convinced. It seems like Charlie is their answer for everything.

**A/N I've been binge-watching Season two to get the interactions between the three right. Can I just mention that these characters are really messed up? In a good way of course, but still. Miles is staying for a week (at least), so there's that. I've finally mentioned Rachel again. (She will most likely get a bigger part eventually, but my Generals and Colonel have to get things of the ground before she can be allowed to know, cause she'll shut the camp down, violently.) The First Lady thing will be explored in more depth later, just because I can, and it makes me giggle. Till tomorrow Guys, and loving your enthousiastic reactions!**


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N I can't thank you guys enough for your support. The 12th has been amazing for me, seeing as I graduated, so expect a tiny bit of sappiness, cause I'm feeling like I'm flying.**

"Are you sure you should've left them alone?" Mason asks when she arrives at her destination. Unlike everyone else she's ever met, he seems to trust Bass and his judgment more than Miles. He's obviously taken the desertion of his General hard, and he doesn't really need to explain why. Some people just can't stand traitors.

"If there's one thing I've learned, Captain," she says while loading swords onto a wheeled platform, "It's that those two will bruise, cut, maim and otherwise hurt each other as much as they can, but always stop short of the final blow." It surprises herself how jaded and matter of fact she sounds.

For a year, all she's been doing is interfering when the generals fight, letting Bass take his frustration at Miles and Rachel and the world out on her during sparring sessions, keeping her mom from doing something stupid, taking down Patriots and grieving Jason, not even mentioning her world turning upside down by falling for the murderer of half her family instead of killing him, her mother turning up alive, and of course she can't forget Miles infected and dying coupled with her grandfather seconds away from death.

To think that she spent her childhood hidden away in a village, ignorant of the reality beyond the gates. Charlie doesn't want that back, she had been miserable back then. Now she might not be as unburdened, but she feels alive. She'd just never thought growing up would hurt this much.

The young woman needs some Charlie-time. Her too short road trip with Bass had been close to what she needed, but too small a dose. She needs to re-energize before throwing herself into another war. Instead, she heaves a crate of nails next to the swords.

"I thought you needed the Colonel for supervision, Mason. She has better things to do." The words are not as smooth and charming as they are all used to, coming from the President. They imply the wrong things as well, but he looks too annoyed to care.

"Where's Miles?" she asks, wondering if she should get a medic for her uncle. Bass seems unharmed, so it's unlikely. Still, better safe than sorry.

"Major Davidson and your uncle are catching up," Bass answers. He actually means it. Davidson isn't torturing Miles while he is chained to a chair, they're friends. The major had been a post Black-out superhero, saving orphans and taking down psychopaths one by one. The Monroe Militia had offered him the soldiers and supplies to do so, in exchange for his loyalty and expertise. Miles had always liked the guy and his unending goodness. Bass, not so much. The guy defied orders when he felt the little man wasn't being taken care off. Davidson never saw the big picture.

"Anyway, I believe I'll be taking the Colonel with me Mason, unless you have something to add?" Bass adds sarcastically.

Charlie follows Bass curiously, wondering what he is planning. "Where exactly will you be taking me?" she asks, easily keeping up with Bass' lazy pace.

"I believe I promised you swimming lessons," he glances her way to make sure she still wants them, and is met with a grin. The beach is only forty minutes east if you walk a straight line, during which they keep up their chatter.

"So, you snuck out, huh?" Charlie asks once they pass the gate. As long as Miles is under the impression that they're sleeping together, he'll keep them either apart or supervised at all times. It's kind of adorable, just like it's cute Bass snuck out to see her.

The man in question smiles, kind of bashful, mostly proud that he evaded his girlfriend's guard to take her on a date like a teenager. The situation oddly reminds him the time when there where Monroes aplenty. He'd been crazily happy back then, as long as he had Miles by his side. These days, he's pretty close to that feeling again.

"He was planning on following you, you know?" Charlie looks over her shoulder to see if Miles isn't really hiding in their shadows, "We noticed that you seemed a little too eager to get away." It had been the first thing they agreed on in forever, barring the Charlie-dubbed: 'city strategies' during their war with the Cuban Americans. At least these days she can figure out what they mean by 'Boston or Manchester', though she really needs to find out about what happened in Concord.

"I'm all good, Bass, just a little overwhelmed." It sounds believable. She's gotten better at lying since she kidnapped Miles from Chicago. The thing is; Bass (like Miles) has spent so much time with her by now that he is familiar with every single one of her tells. She couldn't stop her nose from twitching.

"The truth this time, Charlotte," he scolds gently.

She clamps up, still unwilling to show Sebastian Monroe any of her weaknesses. It's a conditioned response that she's been trying to get rid of. Liking Bass is easy, he's charming and a gentleman and smart. Trusting him, on the other hand, slowly went from impossible to possible. Nevertheless; possible is struggling to turn into probable. She's getting there, at the pace of a snail, but there.

They hit the tree line separating them from the ocean. Bass looks back over his shoulder once to check they're out of sight. It interrupts his steady stride, which draws Charlie to a halt to check what's happening.

Bass grabs Charlie by the hips and pushes her backwards against an oak. "How about," he suggests, whispering the words in her ear, his breath ghosting over her skin, "you tell me what's bothering you in exchange for a kiss? It's a win-win for both of us."

To convince her of his point, he demonstrates, lips pressing again the pulse point just below her ear. Charlie's knees might buckle a little, but there's no room to fall down in the tiny space between the bark of the tree and Bass' body holding her up.

He draws back, being unfairly patient, and watches her up close, waiting for her to speak. Shouldn't men have less control than this?

Hesitantly, hyper-aware of his eyes an inch from hers, she gathers her courage. She starts with the easiest: "I hate my mom." It feels good to say it out loud for once. Rachel has been trying, but Charlie hasn't been able to forget everything she's done to her daughter. It's not even that Rachel is partially responsible for the Black-out and all those deaths, but from always choosing Danny over her to calling her stupid to cheating on her dad.

Bass hums in agreement. To praise her, he captures her upper lip between his and kisses her lazily, giving her all the time in the world to respond. Again, he pulls back, his blue orbs asking for more.

"I never took the time to grieve my brother." This time, it is not agreement, but empathy she finds. He's lost his whole family thrice now; First the car crash, then Miles' desertion, last Connor's attempted murder. He hasn't grieved for the last one either. Appropriately, Bass kisses her forehead, comforting this time.

"I think I might love you," she whispers guiltily. It feels like a confession. Charlie wasn't supposed to ever meet Sebastian Monroe without either of them ending up dead. When it comes to them, nothing is ever like people want it to be, like they think they want it to be.

Bass' eyes twinkle at the words, his right hand moving from her hips to the small of her back, slipping under her shirt to feel the heat of her skin. His left cups her chin, tilting her head so her down-cast eyes meet his. They hold so much love that she can barely stand to gaze into them for more than a few seconds.

Charlie closes her eyes and rises to her toes, lips touching lips. Bass softly rubs his thumb over her eyelid, encouraging her to open them back up, refusing her until she does. When it comes to love, Charlie still knows so little, but she doesn't need experience to feel or recognize it.

It may not be where she expected to end up all her life, but now, there's nowhere she'd rather be.

**A/N After all the comforting Charlie has been doing for Bass, I felt it was time to turn it around. Our girl has confessed, so a step of progress for Charloe, and I believe I threw in the word 'girlfriend' somewhere as well.**


	13. Chapter 13

They continue onward to the beach, stealing kisses along the way. Charlie watches as Bass looks and acts like he's high, intermittently rolling her eyes at his behavior. She doesn't realize that she is the first one to tell him he is loved since Shelly and the baby died.

He seems determined to spoil her silly, which is exactly what she had been aching for a few hours earlier. Normally, she wouldn't even accept it, but for half a day, it's just perfect. He doesn't say it back, but he doesn't have to, it's clear as day on his face.

Getting to the beach takes thirty minutes longer than it should, but they get there light-hearted and happy, so it was completely worth it.

Actually learning how to swim is harder than she thought it would be, and Bass is too distracted a teacher to get it over quickly. He prefers to demonstrate every swimming stroke by guiding her body through it. His hands barely leaving her skin, like he can't stand not knowing she's there and real. On the plus side, lessons take a lot longer than they have to, twilight starting by the time she swims like a professional.

Romance dictates that they make out waist-deep in the water in the glowing ligt of the moon, which he helpfully reminds her of every few minutes or so. With them both deliriously happy, Bass seems to be the sanest he's been since he enlisted, before he ever took a life.

Drama dictates that Miles storms onto the beach with Major Davidson a few feet behind him.

He catches them re-trying their first kiss, Charlie jumping into Bass' arms and wrapping her legs around his waist. They stumble, but don't fall this time, even though they are closer to shore.

"Monroe!" Miles yells with a sigh. He should've known better than to let Bass leave the tent, but he'd found a lot of soldiers that were asking for an explanation for his desertion, which he owed to them. Running from his own problems had left the Militia to deal with them, and his demons were the ugliest they'd ever faced.

Two heads whip in sync to find the source of the noise, though they both know exactly who they will find. Charlie gives Bass a look that says: 'I'll deal with it', and wades her way through the water to the sand.

"God, Charlie, put some pants on," are the first words out of his mouth. He finds the cloth near his own feet and throws it in her direction, eyes pointing skyward and his hand covering Davidson's appreciative eyes. "Yes, she's beautiful, get over it," he growls at the major.

Bass follows her out, eyes not on Miles, but following the drops cascading down Charlie's back and further down. The dry general snaps his fingers and hooks his booted toes under Bass' pants to kick them in his direction.

The wet man blindly catches the jeans and dries himself off with his shirt, ignoring Miles. Charlie's uncle and Bass' best friend is struggling internally. He wants to keep the two of them apart. Monroe is still not safe to be around one hundred percent of the time, and Charlie's coping mechanisms are getting more dangerous than his own, which is saying something. Right now, neither of them are stable enough for an actual relationship. On the other hand, they seem to keep each other stable enough that they might be ready for something serious soon.

It is clear to anyone and everyone that Charlie keeps Bass from falling off the wagon by her mere presence, while the responsibility to another human being seems to keep his niece from doing anything majorly stupid. It's like she transferred the protective feelings she had for Danny (so deeply ingrained that she was lost and reckless without him) to Bass. Since the general and the colonel buried their hatches and truly started working together by choice instead of necessity, Charlie has been more careful, less likely to jump in without thinking first.

Ripping them apart now that they've already admitted to their feelings is too dangerous to risk, so Miles will allow it, grudgingly, but he will.

Once the two are dressed, they look half-way professional again, the high fading and their date over. It is admirable how easily they can switch their responsibilities on and off like a lamp.

Davidson interrupts quietly with a question for the president, which keeps Bass busy for the first part of the walk back to camp, so Miles can talk to his niece.

"I know that you don't like the idea of me and your mom." His hand messes up his own hair, like he always does when he's nervous. Charlie opens her mouth to protest, but he beats her to it. "You're not a good an actor as you think, kid."

She frowns but lets him say whatever he needs to get off his chest. "You still encouraged us to give it a try though." He really doesn't understand why she did, but he hasn't dared to complain. He can't stand the thought of Charlie hating him, never could.

"So I'm letting you and Bass give it a shot, even though I don't really want to," he takes a deep breath and continues, "and I won't tell Rachel." The last part is more for his own protection than theirs, let Bass have the talk with Rachel and Miles gets to keep his head.

Charlie stops him in his stride to give him a well-deserved hug, tightly wrapping her arms around his thin frame. Isn't that what he's doing this all for? Just one hug from his niece and he knows he's made the right decision. He squeezes back, careful to let her be the one to pull away. "Thank you, Miles," she whispers, before resuming their track back to camp.

The four of them discuss the state of the move. Only the kitchens are left, as they should be closer to the food and the beach, where the fish will be coming from. Miles gives Bass a subtle nod of approval, both for the plans, and his new relationship.

In a moment of understanding, Bass returns the gesture, and a thousand words are said without one being spoken.

**A/N A tiny bit shorter than usual, but I didn't want to leave you guys with a cliffhanger after you've been so good to me.**


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N I just realized that telling you that I wouldn't end the last Chap with a cliffhanger meant that I was planning on something like this….Oh well, enjoy!**

A troop of horses thunders through the forest, evading trees at a neck-breaking speed while their riders search the distance for their leaders. Neither of the generals, nor the colonel was at the camp, all of them having gone to the beach with Major Davidson. Cohen spots the group of four first, yelling for his fellow soldiers and making his way to the President first and foremost.

"Sir," he pants, though his horse is far worse off. He dismounts and hands the reigns to his leader, absently noticing his three fellow soldiers doing the same. "A war clan is approaching, two hundred by our count, a mile or twenty. They'll be at the camp by midnight."

It's Miles who takes charge, mounting his horse and turning to the soldiers. "Take that one," he nods to Charlie's mare, "and get Captain Leads and the fishermen back to camp on time. All hands on deck." He checks his own beast, but finds that they gave Bass the better one, as usual. "Charlie, you're with Bass." He can't really ask her to run after he's given her horse away, and he'd rather have her with Bass than Davidson.

The men nod, Cohen already heading to the beach in a gallop, while the ones on foot start their way to camp, jogging steadily. Charlie joins Bass on the black stallion, wrapping her arms around him to prevent herself from falling off. Davidson gets the left-over horse, his own, and they head back, passing the running soldiers along the way, not stopping or acknowledging the second round of salutes.

They head to the Northern gate to spare some time, where they find hundreds of uniforms readying themselves for battle. There's no negotiating with War Clans when winter is this close. The savages are most likely expecting a few thousand scared refugees that they can overpower and steal all supplies from. Little do they know they'll find a fully equipped army to take them down without much trouble at all. Still, experience has taught them that some of their people aren't going to live to see the next sunrise.

"Have you secured the perimeter?" Miles asks before his horse has fully come to a halt, dismounting and landing in a run while the animal is still moving, a soldier ready to catch and rest it.

It's Greyson who was left in charge in their absence. "We have east covered, re-enforcement coming from the beach. West is still being scouted, but the Plains Nations haven't bothered us yet, so I'm not expecting much from that front. My biggest concern is the Texans. If they catch wind of this," he gestures to the Militia flurrying in activity, fully uniformed and armed, Charlie and Bass sending people left and right while he gets the situation report, "Well, we can handle some blood-thirsty idiots, but a war with the Rangers…" he trails off. That will wipe out the Monroe Militia and half the Texan Army, leaving the civilians vulnerable to the Mexicans and California if they're feeling like gaining valuable ground.

"Then let's make sure we handle this quickly," Miles half-orders.

"Matheson!" Bass shouts, not surprised to see that Charlie doesn't spare him a glance, as she knows that he means Miles. Also, she's only about a foot away from him.

"Let's get back in uniform," pulling them both into an empty tent, distributing two sets of war get-ups and keeping the third for himself. They're back out in under thirty seconds, hurrying back to strategize with the others.

"Chicago?" Miles suggests, and Charlie is glad that she knows enough of the stories to keep up with the generals and their one-word unfinished sentences during battle-prep. The other officers listening in look stumped. "Won't work," she says before Bass can consider booby-trapping a line three hundred feet from the fences like they did there, "We don't have enough supplies to waste on bombs that small and ineffective." Miles nods at her point, it had been a long shot anyway, and waits for her suggestion.

"Kennebec?" It had been highly effective when the Patriots almost got to Austen, intercepting them at the last moment. "Can't do," Bass interrupts his stream of orders to inject himself in the plans, "The terrain is too open, we'll have no cover. Pennsylvania than?" It had been their first battle since establishing Philly as their main base. "Or Detroit?" which they lost twice to other Militias before taking it over. The bankrupt city had been mostly abandoned by the time the Black-out came around, attracting psychopats like bees to honey. They'd saved a lot of people by taking it over, and rid the world of a few serial killers, pedophiles and sociopathic kidnappers with vitims locked in their basements. The world had been paradise for people like that for a long few years

"We were being stupid, not smart," Miles reminds him. The friends share a smile at the memory, which they only have because they survived through sheer dumb luck. "Let's keep it simple. Woodstock." Miles' suggestion is met with twin nods after careful consideration.

"Sergeant," Charlie calls out to a woman busy with the distribution of the rifles, standing on a raised platform and pointing soldiers in every imaginable direction. She jumps off and jogs to the Colonel. "We want all the soldiers that were at the beach armed and flanking the Clan. Get your squadron together and move out. When you get the signal, move in and take them out from behind, extreme prejudice." She's practiced enough in war by now that the assassination order coming from her lips doesn't face her.

The female sergeant salutes and is gone in three minutes flat, taking a dozen men and three supply cars with her. She gets a nod of approval from her uncle, and spends the next short hours getting everyone in place.

It's easy to spot the Clan approaching in all its glory. The men and women aren't bothering to be stealthy, yelling out war cries and making a racket. They don't have many horses, ten at most, which walk in front of the mass of people.

The militia is positioned behind the fences, hidden from view and awaiting the order to move out. The generals are on their horses, Charlie in the middle. They're quietly arguing which two of them should stay behind, though Charlie lost the moment the two agreed she should be up high with the archers. Arrows still have bigger range that most bullets. The Colonel is easily the best they have, though she's far better with a crossbow than a longbow.

"Miles is going to assist the Sergeant's squad," she decides for them. There is no way she's setting Bass at the wrong side of the battlefield with arrows and bullets flying his way. One arrow from her had triggered a full-blown episode on the beach, several waves of them might make him snap. This way she can also cover his back when he rides into battle. "Go," she orders before they can disagree.

Miles guides his ride to the east of the camp, through the center of it to evade being seen by the approaching enemies. "One mile out," the guy on the wall reports with his binoculars reports, like he's been doing every two minutes or so, intervals growing shorter as the distance gets smaller.

Charlie hands her mare to Mason. She grabs a bow that leans against the tent, selecting a quiver to go along with it and climbs the make-shift stairs to peak over the top. "Wait for it," Bass shouts confidently as soldiers start fidgeting in anticipation. He repeats the order again, before leaving it to Charlie, who can actually see the Clan approaching.

Archers crouch in a horizontal row, bows in hand and arrows at the ready, rifles resting at their feet for when the enemy gets within bullet-range. She starts the countdown: "Three, two, one, now!" she orders, springing up from her hiding place to fire the first wave of arrows, watching as the first line of the Clan goes down. Her own hits the leader in the chest, where the leather doesn't protect his heart at all.

The gates open and the Monroe Militia pours out by the hundred, Bass in the lead with Captains Leads and Mason behind him. The Clan looks bewildered as their head slides from his saddle and hits the ground with a thud, followed by the front line as arrows rain down from the sky like raindrops. The remaining members cry out in grieve and start storming to the camp, hell-bent on revenge, not stopping when they are faced with four times their numbers.

Charlie has the archers drop the newest frontline before switching them to the rifles, keeping an eye on Bass leading the army. It's going to be an easy battle, the clan has no guns to speak of, just axes and swords. Everyone can hear Bass when he shouts for Miles to move in, and another hundred and fifty or so Militia soldiers appear behind the Clan.

Unprepared, the savages get cut down from behind, Miles wielding his sword and slitting a neck by the time Bass hits the first man on his side. They steadily cut through the ranks, five of theirs against one barely armed idiot, both parts of the army meeting in the middle with only twelve men down.

Miles carefully approaches Bass, trying to gauge the number on his friend's sanity meter, and glad to see the President's eyes are clear if tired. He claps a hand on his brother's back, relieved to find him unharmed.

"You idiot," Bass scolds as his eyes are drawn to the slit in Miles' uniform pants, starting just above his booth and ending below the knee. He dismounts, careful to avoid the body his horse is standing over, and inspects the wound with his fingers. "Medic! A yellow!" he calls patiently, not all that worried now that he knows it's just a shallow flesh wound.

Charlie is close enough to hear his voice, and hurriedly encourages her legs to go faster. She'd not bothered with a horse, knowing from experience that the animals don't like stepping on dead people. "You okay?" she pants as she nears the generals. A medic is a few feet behind her, kit in hand.

"I'm good, Charlie. Just a scratch. What are we going to do with the bodies?"

"Bonfire," Bass grins, mostly sarcastic, it's not like there are marshmallows left.

"Nice, we'll be able to tell the Texans that we're here right away using smoke signals," Miles quips back, sounding like they've had this conversation before. "Mass grave?" he suggests a lot more seriously, pulling a face at the idea of two hundred bodies rotting that close to camp. "Might fertilize more fields for crops, we'll be able to expand the camp, gain some ground." Despite the idea, they kind of need it. Circle of life and all that. It's also the most respectful thing they can do considering the circumstances.

"Expand the camp?" Charlie asks hopefully. He might not have said it on purpose, but it makes it clear that Miles isn't ready to give the Republic as an ideal up. Miles looks guilty at getting caught, but admits quietly; "Yeah, kid, expand the camp." The soldiers that had taken him aside while Bass and Charlie were playing in the water had respectfully reamed him out. Mason in particular had marched in to give the general a piece of his mind, knowing that until the President issued the official Pardon, he'd be safe from insubordination.

"We'll do the Pardon first thing tomorrow," Bass grins. Two Mathesons and a Monroe will be leading the new Monroe Republic, and they will try their best to get it back to its former glory and improve it from there, the whole East Coast up for grabs.

**A/N I've been so busy treasuring each and every single review that I hadn't even noticed I passed a hundred! You guys are amazing, hope you loved this as well. The next chapter is already half-way done, so you'll hear from me again tomorrow, I can't wait.**


	15. Chapter 15

One of the many cons of leading a Republic is that you can leave others to do the dirty work, which in this case is shoveling an unbelievable amount of… well, dirt. They have to adjust the map of course, which Bass refuses to leave to the soldiers, it seems he has a love for urban planning that he doesn't trust anyone else with it.

It might be the middle of the night, but rotting bodies aren't all that patient, so the soldiers who never actually reached the battle before it was over are already piling up heaps of earth to create tiny mountains and deep graves. It's a good thing that the crops were already on that side of the camp, which makes it easier to expand the fields.

They argue briefly if they should move the fence to include the new ground, but decide in the end that they don't have the supplies to waste when the area is easily defendable, as they've already proven in battle. Also, if they are going to create new settlements, they won't have the manpower to build it, and they'll need the fire wood.

A separate squad is digging east, where the casualties of the Monroe Militia will be buried by the tree line. It is a small comfort to the families of the fifteen fallen soldiers, three extra had died from their injuries. They hold a small ceremony, Bass attending to increase his image, the Mathesons following, even though neither really cares about reputation, and they knew none of the soldiers personally. You learn to not care too much for every fallen unfairly quickly.

After the funeral, which is quite crowded despite everyone having their orders, the generals trail after their colonel like puppies, bantering back and forth while she's lost in thought. For the first time in her life, she actually considers the future as a real and almost tangible thing, instead of the fairy tale dream-like feeling that clouded her when she had no idea where her life was going. She has a long-term goal to guide her way this time. She will no longer be living by the day or week or month, heading the rise of an empire is a think-ahead future. It's refreshing.

Charlie makes her way to the tent, absently noting Bass shoving Miles in retaliation for a comment about something stupid he did in Detroit. They seem to be catching up for real this time. Miles is making an effort to give Bass the benefit of a doubt, which he hasn't allowed himself to in a long time. But now, he's already got one foot in the pit, no reason not to jump in head first now that Charlie is there too.

They enter the President's tent, Charlie heading straight for her backpack. She rummages through her own stuff and retrieves her last bottle of whiskey. She's going to bed, but her boys deserve a drink after everything that's been going on today. The booze might just make it simpler for the guys to reconnect.

She holds up the container of liquid for their appraisal and is met with twin grins. "You taught her well," Bass compliments his best friend appreciatively.

Charlie changes out of her uniform and is cocooned in her blankets while the men fill their glasses. With careful timing, she softly calls out for her boyfriend: "Bass?" She turns around on her cot to look at the two most important men in her life. The man hums in recognition, clinking his whiskey against Miles' while he waits for her to follow up. She anticipates the moment they take a sip to do so.

"If sleeping in your tent means I'm the First Lady, does that make Miles your mistress?"

Miles seems to have seen it coming, but Bass sprays his whiskey all over the rickety table they're sitting at, spluttering and gasping for air. "You taught her really well," he hoarsely adds to his previous statement, alcohol burning in his lungs and nose.

His friend proudly grins in agreement, getting up to hand her his drink to find her already asleep. "Good job, kid," he praises quietly, careful not to wake her up. It doesn't even cross his mind that she is still awake, protectively watching over him and his best friend as they sort out their differences.

It's not a one-night process, but the friends make more progress in one night than they have in the past year. Charlie eavesdrops, missing some parts while she doses, but generally listening in on the conversation with fascination. The men are staying clear of anything too heavy, preferring to bond over war stories and childhood memories. An hour or so in, Charlie brings herself to high alert when Miles tells the story of their encounter with Captain Jeremy Baker in memoriam of their friend and comrade, the welcomed third wheel of their friendship. They mourn the loss, evading the reason he's no longer there to celebrate this victory over the war clan.

Once she's sure they'll be okay she relaxes and lets the sound of their voices lull her to a deep sleep. When she wakes again it's to the sound of Miles getting dressed, and she wonders if the guy actually ever sleeps. His last-minute make-shift bed has been slept in, so he's not just changing, but the bags under his eyes tell her he hasn't been sleeping enough, even for him.

"You awake?" he whispers, strapping on his sword and holstering his gun. He ties the laces on his boots next, also new, brought in some time after she'd fallen sleep.

She heaves herself up, pushing away from the cot and abandoning the heat of her blanket. Her knuckles rubbing her eyes drives some of the sleep away, and she wonders what time it is.

Miles throws Charlie's abandoned pillow to Bass' head, hitting his target with perfect accuracy. The president is not a morning person at all, so he blindly launches the attack back and covers his eyes against the light. It hits Charlie instead (Bass is bad at any and all long distance fighting, though he can fire a gun well enough that he passed his qualifications when he enlisted). The bottle of whiskey has barely been touched, which means he isn't hung over on booze, but on a lack of sleep.

Now that everyone is listening, Miles reports why he is up and about. "Rachel is on her way here." Bass startles and rolls over, just to meet the end of his cot and tumble over the edge, immediately wide awake as he hits the ground. "You're kidding," he hopefully exclaims, accepting Charlie's hand to help him up, even if she is laughing at him. She doesn't want to worry about her mom anymore.

"How long do we have?" Bass seems to be contemplating the time it takes to pack the Militia up and run for the hills where she can't find or follow them. "Really, Bass?" Miles asks with a grin, Charlie watches the comical fear in the president's eyes and comfortingly puts a hand on his shoulder. The Mathesons know their friend well.

They're all goofing around a bit, because once Rachel arrives she might bring death for all nine thousand soldiers under their command with her. She's as destructive as they all are, barely having healed from her own lapse of sanity. You'd think she would connect with her former captor, but no; in her mind she'll always be better than Sebastian Monroe. No matter how much she hates herself, she'll always hate him more.

"Rachel took off to find me after she noticed I left with Wilkins, she must have encountered him while they were on their way back to base. We have a few minutes at most."

"Would either of you object if I threw her into the brig?" Bass asks as he struggles to put on his pants and jacket at once. "It worked before," he adds at their looks. The Matheson-by-marriage had not physically harmed a single human being for almost a decade while under guard, that had to be some kind of record. Charlie looks like she might agree with him, but Miles shakes his head in protest.

"We can get her to see reason. I'm not going through that again." Rachel's imprisonment at the Monroe Republic had damaged him more than it had harmed her. She had spent the first years playing mind games with the generals, using their weaknesses (the relationship between her and Miles in both cases), to try and turn them against each other. It was to give Ben and her children a fighting chance by keeping their hunters distracted. He doesn't quite know how Bass survived when Rachel turned all her attention on the president when he deserted. Those two know each other better than Miles knows either of them. He's seen how easily they push each other's buttons, while not even making an effort.

Their hate for each other is genuine and justified, and Miles is scarily aware just how violent and deadly the two are when they are supervised. It takes little imagination to think of the explosive results of their isolated years together. It has connected them and they can't shake it off; It's like they feed of each other's insanity, and the longer their isolation lasted, the more dependent they became.

"Mom and reason don't go all that well together. I think she might enjoy the penance, she might even walk into her cell voluntarily. She did last time." Of all Rachel's wrongdoings, that is still the worst as far as Charlie is concerned. Bass seems glad she says it for him, because she is the one to get the disappointed stare from Miles.

"I asked you to try, remember?" her uncle begs slightly. "And I promised I would," Charlie reminds him. He wants to thank her, but she has a condition. "But I'm not letting her out of this camp until I'm sure we'll survive the week when we do." She'll never leave the camp unsupervised, and they all know it.

They move out once Charlie gets her sword belt from where she'd kicked it under her cot and gather at the gate. The guard has been numbered down to one every five hundred feet, dressed like civilians and visibly unarmed, though they all have a rifle and a small stack of ammunition. Miles meets his girlfriend at the gate, her blonde locks shining in the morning sunlight.

He notices that she is still angry, though it takes him only a few seconds to note that it has nothing to do with their fight over his older brother. "Wilkins told me that you decided on a sleep over at this camp because you had met up with young hot piece of tail that looked like she was excited to see you." Her hands rest on her hips, eyes on her boyfriend's face while she glares. "So where is she, and how the hell did she lose track of Monroe already?" At least she didn't assume he was cheating on her.

Charlie fights the hurt at her words and responds with sarcasm as she announces her presence. She should be able to let it go by now, but the hits just keep coming.

"I'm here, mom, glad you have so much faith in me." Bass stays concealed in the shadows, waiting for the inevitable moment in time where everything goes wrong and he gets to cuff her.

Rachel ignores her daughter's words, almost fearfully staring at Corporal Matheson, Charlie in a Monroe Militia uniform. Suddenly she can see signs of the Republic everywhere, also taking note of Miles in his General outfit, and the fact that the guards disarmed her seems a lot more pertinent. "How could you?" It's unclear which Matheson she is asking, but Rachel doesn't want an answer anyway, nothing will be good enough.

"Rachel," the President greets, stepping into their little circle and putting his hand on Charlie's shoulder, gaining and giving comfort with the gesture. The older woman doesn't miss it, and immediately draws her conclusion. "You're sleeping with him," she realizes with great dismay.

Miles pushes her the few feet to the tent, their group hiding the drama from the soldiers listening in. Rachel is scanning her brain for a way to get Miles and Charlie away from Bass before it's too late, and only has one move left that will help her take them both, even if she might lose them herself.

"I slept with Bass," she barely suppresses a wince at her own confession. Instead of the result she'd expected; Charlie's disgust, Miles's look of betrayal, Bass' rage, she gets a surprise.

Bass laughs out loud, short but powerful. He shakes his head in amusement at her desperate attempt, turning his back to her and pouring a drink from the half empty bottle into a dirty glass. He decides to be unnaturally generous and empties the bottle in another three, handing the first two to his co-leaders and leaving one for when the crazy chick cools down.

"He told me," Charlie says, beating Miles to it, who follows her statement up with: "I was pretty sure." He knows them both better than everybody else, the only exceptions in the tent with him.

He has no delusions, Rachel and Bass are just too entangled emotionally not to have succumbed to it during their self-imposed isolation. It's quite clear she's regretted it ever since, and Bass probably did it exactly for that reason; to torture her with her infidelity, her weak spot because she had already betrayed one Matheson brother, and now the second as well.

Charlie has heard the story from Bass himself, which mostly coincides with what Miles as suspected for a long time. Rachel has made an art of manipulation and guilt-tripping, which she frequently uses to get Miles to do as she wants. When she did, like with the Mustard Gas, it reminded him of the head games she had tortured him with during her captivity. It's why he had tried to kiss her again when Miles was missing, only the second time, it hadn't worked anymore, because Rachel had done some growing up as well. Charlie often wondered who the actual captor was in their situation. One day, she'd like to hear what her mom's side of the story is.

"It doesn't bother you?" Rachel asks her daughter, mad that her plan didn't work, though she's glad she didn't tear apart her own relationship. Another burden removed from her shoulder. One secret less to guard.

"I slept with his son, we're even," Charlie answers. It really doesn't. Bass is a little more traumatized at catching his son and his girlfriend in the afterglow, but they even each other out pretty nicely.

"Besides," she adds, unable to resist the opportunity to remind her mother of her own past, "You fell in love with brothers, remember? Married to one and kept the other on the side, ring a bell?"

Bass looks on gleefully, while Miles tries to calm everyone down before things escalate to murder attempts. Knowing these two, it's entirely possible. Then again, the two enemies seem to keep saving each other like they might be as incapable of killing each other as Miles when he refused to put a bullet in Bass' head.

"Charlie," her uncle reprimands quickly, attempting to get them back on track. His niece is on a roll, so she won't stop. "Or are you going to blame Bass for that too? You know, I've had it with both of you! Can't you guys just for this once accept that you may have something in common and focus on that?"

"Charlotte," Bass tries this time, but he, too, is ignored. "I'm not asking for you to be best friends, god knows that isn't in the realm of possibilities," she mutters the second part of the sentence before continuing in a louder voice, "but is it too much to ask that you don't treat each other like they're the devil coming from hell to make your life miserable? And while I'm at it; stop fighting over Miles like he's a doll," Miles mutters 'action figure' quietly, but stays out of it, "because you've been spending decades like he's the last piece in your divorce settlement." Since the moment they've tried to make him choose her uncle has torn himself in two to appease them both, creating the Butcher of Baltimore in the process. Miles looks humbled that she has chosen to defend him and stops trying to interfere.

Rachel and Bass agree on something as they react in disgust to the implication that they fight like a married couple. Her boyfriend refuses to defend himself; he had Miles first, but Rachel is all too willing.

"He," she begins, pointing at Bass with an accusing finger, but doesn't get any further when Charlie grabs Rachel's untouched glass of whiskey and throws the two in her hands in the direction of her mom and the other idiot. They close their eyes in time (, it could've been very dangerous otherwise), and look sufficiently calmed down and a lot more rational.

Miles takes the glasses from her and grabs her wrists, calming his niece down and getting her to sit down while she breathes erratically. "Charlie," he says, ignoring the set of whiskey-doused figures coming closer to see what's wrong, "you're hyperventilating, kid," he explains.

His girlfriend hears the diagnoses and tries to shove him aside. "Back up, Rachel," he orders with a growl, completely focused on the girl. His hand is at her wrist where he can measure her quick pulse, keeping his own breathing steady so she can imitate him.

"Let me, Miles," the older woman argues, "I've done this hundreds of times with Danny." Charlie snorts through her attack, undoing all of her progress. The last time Rachel had the chance to breathe with her brother during his asthma attack was a decade or so ago. Her mom tries to get closer a second time.

"You're making it worse," he snaps back without looking, because her nearness undid Charlie's own attempts. His niece knows exactly how to calm herself down from the years she took care of her sick little brother.

"You're not her dad, Miles," Rachel snaps back angrily, not even knowing herself if it is the truth or not. The woman doesn't really realize how lucky she is that both her daughter and lover are too busy to hear her, but does curse the universe when Bass' concerned look turns into hateful vengeance. He pulls her away from the pair, confident that Miles will keep his girl safe, and marches her to the empty tent next to his, throwing her to the floor while she still struggles.

His insanity is unmistakable, though he hasn't even thought to draw his sword or gun. "You listen to me very carefully," he grinds out at Rachel, who stares back defiantly. She isn't afraid at all, she's seen him far worse than this. The last time she had felt any real terror was when he stormed into her rooms the night Miles woke him up with a gun. He'd taken it out on her without touching her even once. In that single hour he'd inflicted more damage on her than he'd ever been able to.

"If you ever hurt Charlie or Miles by saying something that moronic again, I'll rip you apart limb by limb." Rachel crawls to her feet and steps toward him when most would back away as far as they could.

"It's none of your business, Monroe. If I were you, I'd worry about what I'm going to do to your new Militia. I'll burn the Republic to the ground before I ever let you take back the power you lost. You're no president, you're a parasite," she says calmly in the exact same tone that she knows will infuriate him. His hand shoots to her throat, the episode allowing him the strenght to lift her from the ground one-handed, squeezing. Still, she goes on: "And I will break Miles and Charlie free of you if it is the last thing I do," she gasps the last words as her trachea closes.

The last of her air is gone, and Bass smiles in victory as she passes out. He drops her to the ground before he can kill her and watches dispassionately when her head hits the ground. She'll be out cold for a while.

He grabs the simple chair from the corner and heaves Rachel into it, finding some convenient rope and tying her to it. His practiced fingers weave knots at her arms and legs, and a few extra wherever he can find place for them until the rope runs out.

Calming down slightly, keeping up the breathing exercises Charlie taught him to see if they would help, he checks the woman's throat. The bruises shaped like his hand are already showing, but there is no bump on her head from where she hit the relatively soft floor.

Bass doesn't feel any regret as his breathing steadies and his sanity returns.

He sits with his back against the tent, facing his prisoner and able to look over her shoulder for the entrance and spot any newcomers. He pulls up one leg and bends it at the knee, wrapping his arm around it and waiting.

**A/N This chapter got a little out of hand, both on word count and plot, I didn't think you guys would mind. I actually considered getting rid of Rachel at one point, but I think that she and Bass genuinely can't kill each other, close in their own sick and hateful way. Can I just applaud both actors on their performance in 2x19 (sh*t happens)? I watched their scene thrice for inspiration, and am more than satisfied with how this turned out.**


	16. Chapter 16

"Bass! What did you do?" Miles exclaims when he finds his girlfriend tied to a chair, a blue handprint surrounding her throat. He hurries to her to check her pulse, wanting to make sure she's still alive and breathing.

Charlie follows him, taking in the situation quickly and holding her uncle back, needing to know if Bass is okay first. During his episodes, he's attacked for less than a shout and a sudden movement. "Bass?" she says quietly like she's talking to a startled deer. She's perfected the tone by now.

She's relieved to find his breathing steady and his body language relaxed, though his figure is hidden by her mother's unconscious form. "I'm not sorry." He's done apologizing for anything he's ever done to the bitch.

He sounds calm and his voice is clear, so she releases her uncle and approaches him, barely glancing at her mother. Miles might not have heard her, but Charlie had processed the comment long after it had been said and she'd calmed down from her embarrassing panic attack.

"Why did you stop, Bass?" she asks, forcing them both to concentrate on the important part. He'd stopped in the middle of a psychotic break, which by all counts sounds impossible.

"I've controlled my hate for Rachel for so long that I could recognize it was different. I felt in control, aware. I didn't want to stop anyway." He looks at his boots, deep in thought, a brain trying to figure itself out.

"So why did you?" She loses her kneeling position and parks her but next to his, giving him some privacy by turning her eyes to Miles, who despite everything isn't trying to untie her mom at all.

"She is going to destroy the Republic and take you and Miles away. I had the chance, and I couldn't do it. I should've finished it." He sounds angry, like he missed the chance of a lifetime. His nails are digging into the earth where there is a hole in the tent floor. The question doesn't get answered.

Miles combs his fingers through Rachel's hair, devastated that they're right back where they started. What they have might not be healthy in any universe, but he loves her and she loves him and isn't that enough? Nevertheless, he can't say that Bass did something wrong. Things would've inevitably lead to Rachel tied up, because she can't be allowed to leave.

Taking a deep breath, Miles reaches out a hand like it's the hardest thing he's ever done. Bass looks at his best friend's hand like it's a poisonous snake, but can't help but take it. He will always take Miles' help if he offers it, not entirely sure he can stay sane without it, even though it has let him down again and again and again. His own circles around Charlie and Miles pulls them both up. He gently trips Bass to make him overbalance and wraps his left arm around his friend in a rare display of affection, pressing the girl against their side with the other arm.

"We're family, Bass, all of us," and maybe that's the only answer that comes close. Which members they are in this equation is too chaotic to try to describe, especially as their perspective of each other varies so widely, but the pieces fit if you stare at them long enough. All it takes is patience and dozens of mistakes that tear at the edges and a whole lot of stubbornness, of which they all possess more than enough.

It's the first time since the debacle at Philly where Miles negates his previous statement with one hundred percent truth, no reluctance left like when he freed Monroe from Neville's take-over. Charlie squeezes the hand on Bass' back in relieve, a small amount of pride, and an echo of the understanding that if uncle and niece work in sync, they can keep the four of them together throughout the re-rise of the Monroe Republic and the Matheson Militia.

Rachel stirs, interrupting their moment. Maybe in time, she'll understand enough of battles and war to join them like she's supposed to, but now she still finds herself aching and bound with a clear few of her would-be killer in an three-way embrace with her lover and her daughter like he's done nothing wrong, maybe even praising him for doing something right.

She's tried to keep her family away from Bass, has spent every moment of her captivity trying to keep Miles away from the president and sowing the seeds doubt, because her lover is a good man. She'd succeeded, and was left alone with the leader of the Monroe Republic to pay for it.

The isolation, Monroe her only company, had forced her down the same trap he'd ensnared Miles in. In a moment of weakness, she had fallen for his charm and given in, recognizing his plan of vengeance far too late. He'd won her over with the intention of destroying her, and he'd succeeded by showing her kindness and taking it way when she'd already become dependent on it.

She'd hoped she'd be able to protect Charlie, but the few bridges left unburned had been set aflame with Nora's death. Her own stupidity had pushed her daughter straight onto Monroe's path and into his arms. By the time the pair arrived at Willoughby he had already brainwashed the girl into protecting him, and she had been too late.

She's been so proud of Miles for resisting the lure of the abyss that is Sebastian Monroe that she encouraged her only child to jump into it so she could remove her lover from the influence completely. Right now, Rachel doesn't think she will ever be able to live with making that decision.

Miles kisses Charlie's hair and releases her, but Bass clings to him for a moment longer, knowing how rare a hug from his best friend is, (he can count every single one he's ever received on one hand, ) Bass is usually the one to initiate contact.

He gets a manly pat on his back and one last squeeze of comfort before the older man lets go. Charlie would love to kiss him, but doing that in front of her uncle and her mom would mean she has a dead wish, which she no longer does.

Rachel is too proud and too smart to call out for help and expect getting it after the scene she's just witnessed. Experience has taught her that she won't get out of the camp without permission, and that all she can bargain for is a single room, or maybe a suite again, to move around in freely. They know her ways too well to believe she will ever want a Republic with Monroe at the head.

"You okay?" Miles asks when he notices her state of awareness. He almost falls to his knees in front of her, releasing some of the unnecessary knots that Bass made just to keep busy, but must be digging into her skin, some of them right on the pressure points. So his friend had still been feeling a tiny bit sadistic.

"I've had worse," their prisoner replies reassuringly, with a glare in Monroe's direction. She's not foolish enough to hope that Miles will undo enough rope to free herself, but she can play the game well and long enough to improve her state of life, she's done it before.

Her lover doesn't apologize, but he does massage her painful bruises with tender hands while the other couple moves closer. "Could you guys leave us for a moment?" Charlie asks the men. They nod, having a whole day of paperwork ahead of them, her own stack piling up already despite the short time she's been colonel.

"Charlotte," Bass speaks up before he leaves, "I'll send Mason to guard her. He was part of the original team." It goes unsaid that he'll know most of the tricks in the woman's repertoire and is capable of resisting her manipulation attempts. "I though Mason was stationed at the border since enlisting," she inquires.

Bass shakes his head. "We assigned him there after his promotion to Captain a year or six ago, speaking of, he might deserve another." She nods in understanding and agreement, saying goodbye and watching the entrance close.

Charlie faces her mother, exhausted enough already to want to sit down, but unwilling to give her the advantage. "I heard what you said to Miles," she commences before falling silent.

In this case, she out-waits her mom with forced patience, for she doesn't know how to continue. "You're not going to ask?" Rachel calmly questions, her fist clenching on the armrest the only thing that betrays her bluff.

Charlie can't believe she never did the math. Her birthdate coincides almost perfectly with the affair, but she's never even considered it until her mom used the words 'Miles' and 'dad' in the same sentence without implying Benjamin Matheson.

"In the past two years," Charlie answers, "Miles has been a better parent to me than I ever can remember you being, so no. I don't care if he's my uncle or my father, hell, I wouldn't be all that surprised if you slept with an extra idiot to get me. He will love me no matter what, because he doesn't need me to be blood to care. He doesn't need me to be a genius or Danny's protector or a frilly little princess to even spare me a glance." Miles is her uncle and her father and her friend without replacing any of the people she already viewed like one. Blood doesn't get to dictate which of the three he should be.

Rachel doesn't bother to look chastised, even though it hurts that her daughter hates her so much that she is willing to hurt her mother and enjoy it. "I never took the test," the older woman admits quietly, "I didn't want to have proof either way." For a woman of science, she is surprisingly content with not knowing the answers and living with ignorance. That had always been Ben.

"Bass didn't kill you. Why?"

"Same reason I couldn't do the same and let him die, I imagine," she says it airily, lightly, like it's unimportant, while it is the key to fixing the foursome's relationship and expanding the Republic.

"Which is?" Charlie presses.

"Miles, of course, and now you. Neither can't live while the other survives and all that." The Harry Potter reference flies completely over her daughter's head, but the girl gets the gist of it. With one out of four murdered from within the group, it falls apart. Miles and Charlie will be left, bound by familial love, but with Bass dead at her hands, they will shut her out, with her own death, Bass will be lost to them. It's a subconscious reflex to stop them before they go too far and do irreparable damage, strong enough to stop Bass in the middle of a psychotic break.

The two enemies are intertwined because they love the same people, and that bond is as unbreakable in hate as it is in unwilling love.


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N You probably don't want to know this, but we're approaching the finale of Road Trip. After this, there will be two more chapters, and then our heroes will be left to live out the rest of their lives. Enjoy while you still can! WARNING: implied smut coming up, if I should change the rating, say so.**

Charlie leaves the tent in deep contemplation, finding Captain Mason addressing a bunch of men and women about handling the new prisoner while they transport her to one of the cells. He spots her and gives her a sympathetic look, knowing the connection between Monroe's long-term prisoner and the Colonel.

She sees Miles a few feet away, pacing back and forward like he wants to go in but doesn't dare. He doesn't have to, Rachel is brought out on her chair, sitting almost regally as they lift her. They're not taking any chances.

"Good luck," Charlie says as her uncle follows the guard to have a heart-to-heart with his girlfriend without Bass' interference, "And be careful."

She finds Bass in their tent, the left over glass of whiskey in his hand and his boots resting on the second chair. He's writing up Miles' Pardon from memory, he's had one lying around in Philly for years. He crosses his last 't' and signs it, setting his pencil down, observing his girlfriend to find out if she's mad at him.

Charlie drops herself down on his lap, seeing as the chairs are both occupied by the president, and tilts her head. "So, I was thinking that we'll be very busy for a long time," she says, undoing the upper button on his collar and working her way down the line.

Bass easily picks up her line of thought (, how could he not?), and completes it out loud. "And if everyone thinks we are sleeping together anyway, we might as well take advantage of what little free time we have."

As far as romantic advances go, it's not all that impressive, but Charlie's never been a girl he had to slowly court with flowers and chocolates. Neither of them is partcularly prudish.

They have been subconsciously waiting for the right moment; one where they both know for sure that both of them are aware of exactly how serious this is, completing the tests for both love and loyalty. That moment has just passed.

Bass lifts a hand behind her head, entwining his slender fingers in her locks. He guides her head closer so he can reach her pale lips with his own.

Charlie kisses like she does everything: passionate, fiery and shoving her insecurities and fears to the side. Her lover battles her for control and wins, seems like kissing counts like close-combat as well.

The young woman shoves his jacket down. Once she pops the last button she immediately goes for his shirt, which makes a short journey to the ground as well. Her digits skim over his defined muscles while he works around her exploring limbs to strip her of hers, hands creeping under her shirt to unhook her bra and take them both off at the same time, shortly interrupting the contact before returning with twice the force.

They don't leave the cot they made it to until Miles knocks on the closed entrance. He's smart enough to know he does not want to go in. "You have five minutes until I come and get you," he warns. They scramble back into uniform, not doubting that it is better to go voluntarily than by whatever method the general comes up with.

Charlie gets out first and makes her way to Command while Bass announces the Pardon for the founding General and promotes Captain Mason to Major like they discussed. After a year they should really be handing those out like candy, but that'll destroy the purpose.

"You okay?" she asks as she finds her uncle in the main tent with his head in his hands.

"Yeah, it's just," he confirms and hesitates, "I send the first regiment out to Chicago. The city survived the blasts and we have a lot of loyal Militia there, including the basics to make it the new Philly." Ironic, finish it where it all begun.

"And you feel guilty," Charlie guesses. Miles parrots it back at her.

"What if it happens like it did last time? Bass isn't in the realm of okay, Charlie, and I'm already losing it." He has locked his girlfriend up in a guarded tent with a sleeping bag and the basic prisoner supplies, though she is allowed to move in the small amount of square feet now.

It's like they think she doesn't have her own insecurities when it comes to the plans for the future, but they have a responsibility to help these people back on their feet, and to the civilians all over the East Coast. That's what keeps her going. The Mathesons and the left-over Monroe owe the people of their Republic and Georgia.

"I won't let you. Mom won't let you." Despite her annoying holier-than-thou attitude, Rachel's overcompensating morals might actually hold them back.

"Your mom is a prisoner," he reminds his niece carefully in case she's forgotten.

"Like that has ever stopped her," she retaliates slightly resentfully. Rachel had been as much as a colonel in Philly as her daughter is now, only her mom hadn't been allowed to give any orders or be seen by anyone but a select few.

Miles laughs in agreement and lost in memories. "True. By the way, I had them transfer her through the middle of the camp. She's seen the kids. Knowing that betraying us to the Texans will wipe out almost half a thousand children should be enough to stop her from snitching if she escapes."

It is a huge comfort to hear the news. Rachel had been furious when they attacked the Patriot re-education center and wiped out the brainwashed teenagers, even she isn't enough of a hypocrite to do something like that herself, not anymore.

They receive a report that there are refugees approaching north and head there to welcome them. It's a group of fifty people looking for protection from the War Clan unknowingly buried beneath their feet. The spokesperson informs them of the savages left behind and Leads takes seventy armed men with him to wipe them out and take their supplies. If the camp is useful, they'll have a second settlement for the Republic until they can get away from the Texan border and transfer to the safety of Chicago.

When the refugees are assigned their tents and occupation a woman recognizes whom exactly these soldiers belong to, and disarms a guard to point his gun at President Sebastian Monroe, who has just arrived.

Before anyone can even realize what happened, McKnight has put a bullet in her skull. "Are you all right, Mister President?" he asks, checking the body for any sign of life and taking the gun before another civilian decides to do something stupid.

"I'm fine, but I think that we can all agree that we have to reinstate the guards for me and both Mathesons."

"That won't be necessary," Charlie says, she won't be able to handle people following her around, Duncan's men were okay, but full-time protection would drive her insane. "You'll be in charge of the president's protection from now on, you've proven yourself."

Bass won't mention that she just assigned herself a guard as well, because Charlie will barely leave his side for the next few months. Getting Miles a detail will be impossible, he's tried before and his friend always escapes them instead. "You heard the lady," he tells the soldier, who immediately picks Cohen to share the first shift with, the two are probably friends.

"Anyone else feeling murderous today?" Bass asks the refugees that are left. If any others have a grudge against Monroe they don't show it, so a cadet brings them to their new homes.


	18. Chapter 18

Once Miles' Pardon is announced things move impossibly quickly. Within three months Chicago grows and expands as the Militia starts using it as their main base.

Hundreds of soldiers re-appear when the Monroe Republic flags spread, looking for jobs because they don't know how to do much else, while at the same time giving their families protection. The branded arms can come out in the open again and people realize that the Republic never really fell in the first place.

When Bass had said the East coast was up for grabs even he hadn't expected the ease with which they accept town after town back in the Republic and expand even further with the almost abandoned area where Georgia used to be.

They manage to rewrite the treaty with Texas, though the Mathesons keep Bass as far away from the negotiations as possible. In two years they have permanently reestablished the former borders and gone beyond it to include Georgia, some of the Plains Nations and conquering the area of Wasteland between the former version of the Republic and Texas.

Rachel is still not allowed to go anywhere alone, but she is free to roam her former home city under guard. She's never tried to escape once, but she also never shuts up about everything going to hell either.

It's such a shame the leaders have to listen when she says 'I told you so' after she's proven right.

Trouble starts with the visit from Connor Monroe, who arrives from his hide out in Mexico and never tries to leave despite Charlie's frequent suggestions that he should go back to his own gang and never show his face again.

Bass is blinded by the fact that his son is with him again that he doesn't see what the Mathesons do. Connor is a lot like his father, but unlike the older Monroe, he doesn't have a past to draw on from when he was good. Bass was corrupted by power long after his teenage years, Connor grew up corrupted, doesn't know any different.

"I think you could take Texas by now," he mentions a month after his arrival while they're relaxing with a bottle of booze and a game of poker. It's just the generals and the kid, which is probably why it gets out of hand that quickly.

"Bass, no," Miles is quick to warn, kicking the youngest in the shin under the table for saying something that stupid. It doesn't stop the idiot.

"You'll double the Republic, half the United States will belong to you alone. We'll triple the number of civilians," Connor doesn't get to finish, for Miles interferes, "And wipe out half our army, too, don't forget about that." They have maybe two soldiers a Texan if they're really lucky.

The men bury the subject, but the idea is still there.

Miles brings it up with Rachel the same night, scared because they've both noticed that the past is repeating itself. Connor is to Bass what Miles used to be, an abyss so dark he can't live without it, but the young Monroe won't leave like Miles did, can't call himself to a halt.

"Let me have one night," Rachel asks her lover, knowing what she has to do, who she has to kill. He understands her wrong, and shakes his head. "You aren't allowed near Bass." It had been Charlie's rule, which Miles was all too glad to support. The last time those two had been left alone together Bass had almost killed her (again) after she'd tried to get into his head (again) and incited another insanity episode instead (again).

"I'm not talking about him, Miles." The man frowns in confusion. He hears the door to Rachel's suite open and finds Charlie eavesdropping.

"You can't be serious," Charlie exclaims once he repeats the story for her. "What's the plan?" She's all business as she stops herself from pacing.

"Don't look at me," Miles shakes his head, he failed the last time things went south.

"You were talking about taking Connor out of the equation?" she asks her mom for conformation. Rachel nods. "Things were going just fine before the kid showed up," she admits reluctantly. Charlie had really been a god send for the three of them. Miles finally gets the plan and nods as well. "It's worth a try." They can't lose Bass again, not after it's been going so well.

Charlie takes her sword from its scabbard and readies herself to assassinate her boyfriend's son.

"Let me," Rachel speaks up before her daughter can leave. "Bass already hates me. He's going to need you more than ever." They're about to take another Monroe family member away. If Charlie causes that he might snap and never recover.

Charlie bites her lip. "He'll know we planned it," she says. The point is moot.

"Trust me," he mom pleads. She's ready to die for this, can't allow Charlie to do it for her.

"Miles?" Charlie turns to her uncle for advice.

"Come on, kid," he beckons, moving her out of the suite and into the hallway, where he conveniently forgets to lock the door. They've stopped guarding her rooms ages ago, so it's all clear. Neither of them mentions the gun he left on the table in the oppressive silence.

Before dawn the news that Rachel succeeded has reached them, Bass flying into a rage and demanding his investigators find out who killed his son. Charlie and Miles double-team to keep him calm, but he is too far gone.

Without consulting either of his friends he spends the next few days obsessively gathering an army to send to Texas, like Connor would've wanted, confining himself to his rooms. It's the moment Charlie interferes, not backing down.

"If you go through with the attack on Austen, our people will die by the thousand. You promised when we started that you would put them above any of us, above Connor. Don't break it."

She's forgotten that Bass sees right through her when he's being paranoid. "You knew," he realizes, "Who did it, Charlotte, who?" There's a desk between them, so he stops before he can reach out and hurt her, but the moment is not far away. "Was it you?" It might as well have been.

Bass flips the desk over and jumps over it, aching to hurt her as much as he's hurting right now. Charlie anticipates the move and steps into his blind spot, parrying the arm and sighing in relieve when the door opens and Miles storms in to help her contain the president.

They tie him up and watch in pain as their friend struggles against the bonds. Rachel sneaks in quietly, but he sees her right away and knows the answer. His fight with the rope increases, but he remains stuck.

Her mom pulls her aside, leaving Miles to watch over the president.

"Charlie, please listen to me. This is what happened last time, this is where it went wrong, and it's irreversible. He can't handle power, he's not good." Rachel begs. None of them are good anymore, even if they keep trying.

"I know he's not, but I can't stop him. Miles can't either." Charlie glances back at her lover, who's glaring a whole in the back of their heads, tense and ready to strike if the fibers give out. "I can't kill him, mom, I love him."

None of them can do that. Not when they know that Bass is capable of recovering like they've seen in the past two years. Even Rachel will acknowledge that the Republic is a good thing these days.

"Then we leave," Miles says from where he's been listening. Bass' eyes widen in fear at the thought of losing his whole family in one day, just like last time. The insanity ebbs away slightly as he regains control of his senses.

Charlie sees it and carefully approaches the love of her life. "I know you hate me right now, and I know that I deserve it, but I promised you when we started the Republic that I would drag you away with me kicking and screaming if I had to." He can't reply, his mouth covered so he can't call out to the guards

A needle enters her vision. Rachel is holding it out for her to see, palm pointed up. "I thought we might need a sedative," she explains quietly.

"I'll take care of everything," Miles states as he leaves the office with one last look at his friend. Charlie and he have had a plan in place since they arrived in Chicago with a new Militia in tow. He'd really hoped he'd never need to implement it.

Bass watches the needle with suspicion, eyes following the object while Rachel prepares his skin with alcohol.

"Miles and I have had a plan to leave in place for a while, Bass. He's going to promote Colonel Mason to take over your position. We all like him and he's a good man. He's promised to keep us updated and that he'll ask for our help if he needs it," Charlie keeps up a steady stream of explanations to keep his attention on her instead of her mom.

Mason was a shoe-in for the position from the very beginning, rising through the ranks until he was Charlie's equal. His twenty-eight-year-old wife, now a Major, is her best friend and a gentle woman. Max and the girls have spent a lot of time at the Republic's version of the White House, her home of the past two years, and will no doubt keep Mason from doing anything stupid when he is named President.

Once that is handled, they'll be able to disappear.

"The Republic needed a kick start, but it can be left alone now." It's almost a relieve to say it. All those responsibilities will fall away after today.

The needle slips under Bass' skin and the liquid quickly puts him in a deep sleep. Rachel checks his pulse and nods. They undo the knots and heave the muscled man onto a stretcher that's still there from when he got shot during the Detroit take-over.

Miles is back within two hours and they sneak out of the city, hiding the body of the former president beneath the bags in the secret compartment of a cart.

**A/N It was inevitable, but the Republic and all the good it does will remain. One Chapter left. **


	19. Chapter 19

They move into a set of cabins in a small fisher town a day's travel away from Chicago. It's surrounded by woods on one side and a huge body of water on the other.

Rachel keeps Bass sedated, and once they arrive she locks the door to her and Miles' place until it's safe to come out. She can't expect to kill his son without consequences.

Miles and Charlie wait by his bedside, much like they did when he had been executed. To keep moving she unpacks their bags, filling the pantries and closets with food and clothes respectively. She's getting the last sack, one filled with her favorite decorations from Chicago, when Miles calls out for her. Bass is stirring and they both need to be there to react to his state of mind.

They haven't tied him up again. If he is half-way sane he will panic if he can't move. The Matheson pair is sure they can keep him under control. All they need right now is for their friend to revert back to the way he was just before Connor invited himself into their lives. Bass had been doing so well before that, always responding when either of them reprimanded him when the power got to his head.

"Miles," Bass groans as his best friend swims into his vision. He absently recognizes the symptoms of a post-drug haze. His head hurts like hell, his eyes are dry and burning in the sunlight, which are coupled with a sluggish feeling and the refusal of cooperation from his aching limbs.

"Hey, Bass," his best friend responds, taking care to keep his tone low and not worsen the headache they are all feeling, mostly stress gathering behind their eyes.

"Where's Charlotte?" he asks with a mumble, trying to turn his head to search for her. His neck won't work with him either, so he's completely dependent on Miles. His mind processes that he is drugged and his girlfriend is missing, which immediately forces him into a panic and makes his hands lash out in search of her. Kidnappers might've taken them both.

"Right here, Bass, we're all safe," she's quick to reassure.

His next thought, oddly, is to ask for Rachel's safety, but that brings back the memories of the day before. "I'll kill her," he warns as he tries to get up, his arms shaking too much to accomplish it. He's also furious at Miles and Charlie, but the idea of murdering Rachel is actually satisfying instead of heart-breaking.

"Whoa, buddy," Miles tries, his hand pressing Bass' shoulder back into the matrass. "Nobody's gonna kill anyone, we're done with that from now on." They never will be completely, but he prays to god he never gets to reach his next hundred.

"Sod off, Miles," he snarls, batting the hand away and getting up, throwing his legs over the side of the bed and standing. His legs cramp and collapse beneath him, Charlie's reflexes saving him from a particularly nasty fall.

Bass grabs her wrists and pushes his girlfriend away the moment his vision stops blacking out. "Where is the bitch?" he demands harshly, looking for his boots and ignoring the hurt on Charlie's face. His son is dead, she deserves it. "Where the hell am I?"

"Bass," Charlie scolds, changing tactics. She's got a whole list of them to try. "Get back to the bed." It's as much of a suggestion as it is an order.

"Don't think so," he snaps back angrily. He finds boots that are Miles' size, and therefore will fit him just as well. Charlie takes the one he isn't lacing up and throws it out the window.

Bass yanks the one he's wearing off in frustration, his shaking fingers unable to knot the laces. Rachel won't be far, he won't need them anyway. He'll go on his bare feet, no problem.

His girlfriend intercepts him on his way to the door, Miles guarding the window. Seeing as Charlie knows of his blind spot, he goes for the window, throwing a shaky punch. His best friend steps out of his line of sight and trips him back onto the bed.

"You told him," Bass accuses Charlie. Miles had always stepped into his vision during sparring; he'd never known to avoid his eyesight before. It's a minor betrayal right now, but that she sold him out hurts anyway.

"We've been exchanging tips and tricks for a while." It's Miles who admits it. Ever since Connor came back they've been planning for this moment even more carefully, setting up the cabins and weirdly telling each other in great detail just how many ways there are to keep him calm and sane and any triggers to avoid. He's sure they could write a book about it. They even included Rachel a number of times, though she was reluctant to share, their common goal had convinced her to participate. It's almost sick how many weaknesses that they've never thought of are easily accessible to Rachel, who made it her life's purpose to discover them all and end Bass with the knowledge before they got attached to each other.

"Why did you do it?"

"We hoped his absence would stop your regression," Miles explains, carefully not using the word 'death' or naming Connor out loud.

"What regression?" Bass questions with genuine confusion. It's a visible sign of just how far gone he's been these past four weeks. Connor had planted the idea of a new Monroe Republic in his head when he met his father, and it had undone all the effort they'd put in his sanity. When he came back, the same thing happened again.

"You were planning to take over Texas," Charlie reminds him, a worried frown on her face. His memory lapses during episodes have always been there, but he's never lost full days. She tells herself that he's never had an episode that long since she's known him. Her mom might know of an occasion where it happened.

Bass looks frustrated as his memories fail him. Flashes push through; just enough to puzzle the last week or so back together. "You elected Mason as president," he recalls.

Charlie nods in encouragement. "I promised I would get you out, Bass. We did what we had to do, and now we can get back to what we started." She takes a deep breath. "We're going on a road trip for a few days, maybe longer, until everyone is okay again."

"You mean until I won't try to kill your mom the moment I see her," he translates, "That's going to take a while." Not to mention he isn't really feeling like being alone with the woman who ordered his son's death.

"I have all the time in the world," Charlie smiles hesitantly, "Miles will come if he doesn't think you'll behave." It's a tiny threat for a good purpose.

Bass looks like he's considering taking Miles along just to isolate Rachel as punishment for her crime. In the end, he decides it's not worth it. Being angry at Charlie is easier if Miles doesn't deflect all his rage at him to spare his niece. It will speed up his forgiveness process in both cases to have Charlie close and Miles at a distance.

They just killed his son and he is already contemplating letting them get away with it. He wants to blame the drugs, but can't lie to himself.

"Road trip it is," he sighs.

**A/N I can't believe this is finished! I'm incredibly proud of this piece of work. Thank you all for following me on this journey and all of your support. Road trip was always supposed to end like this, and I hope you understand that and might even like it.**

**On a second note, for those who need a daily fix of Charloe, I'll feed your addiction once more with an unrelated one-shot that will be posted on the twenty-first. Just so you won't have to go cold turkey ;)**


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